


Arc: Vellan

by South_Star



Series: Starstruck [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: //watching everyone enjoy the fluff, Angst, At its finest!!, Character Death, Dhfjkgkg so yeah everything is... well anything nsfw is implied, Digital Art, Drama, F/M, Forced Marriage, Implied Non-Con, Love at First Sight, M/M, Main Character Death, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Plot twist no one is actually straight, Tragedy, Trope Subversion, Unhealthy Relationships, Word count: 10000, Word count: 15000, Word count: 20000, Word count: 5000, and whatever you think will happen wint, art included, cuz I’m subverting So Many Typical Tropes, cuz I’m trying to keep this uhhh, dhfjgjgjgjgkkv, haha THAT won’t last, healthy relationship, hnfjfjgj how do the art tags work, idk im just Vibing, implied dub-con, its more like desperately imprinting but dhjfjgk, not necessarily pg but Readable for minors lmao, nothing implicit in the main editions to starstruck ehuehue, theres no explicit sex in here, this is.. as the cool kids say... A, well except that one that one’s pretty accurate I guess, wheeze I mean just look at my other tags like
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:08:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24873574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/South_Star/pseuds/South_Star
Summary: Prince Velahnhiris quite enjoys his life. His mother is... absent, but that’s fine; his father is always there with a warm hug or gentle word and it’s great. It’s fantastic! And of course Velahnhiris is busy with his personal studies, because his schooling is important, but... Well. Velahnhiris can’t help but think it might be nice, just this once, to step out and see the sights.What could go wrong?
Relationships: Vellan/Afiran, Vellan/Neaswe
Series: Starstruck [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799800
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AAA this is something I’ve had in the work for.... well, the actual writing took me two days but the IDEA of it.... a month! A month solid of thinking and brainstorming and w a n t i n g this beautiful idea I have in my brain to crawl out and make itself.
> 
> So I hope y’all enjoy!! :D

Velahnhiris swore that if he had to stare at one more blinding screen filled with endless texts with even more endlessly dry material, he was going to throw something. 

It normally wasn’t so bad, granted, but he’s been doing this for almost four hours without taking a break without his father to interrupt him, and he’d gone and silenced his alarms thirty minutes in to avoid any unwanted distractions. 

He, Velahnhiris reflected morosely, was greatly regretting his previous life choices. 

So. Really, he couldn’t be blamed for wanting a break. Velahnhiris was sixteen; sixteen year olds typically did study breaks, right? 

“Stars,” he sighed out loud, chest heaving as he exhaled. Velahnhiris took a moment to rub his eyes, discarding his reading glasses to the side of his computer. He needed a break, seriously; Velahnhiris was getting nowhere with this, and his room was beginning to feel too clustered. He felt claustrophobic, really, being in here all day. 

“A break,” he decided out loud, making it sound real, and this time Velahnhiris even believed himself. A break actually sounded fun for once, although his hobbies were few and far between and usually involved the written word. But Velahnhiris swore to himself that he was doing absolutely nothing involving reading; if he read anymore it would just give him the worst migraine in the universe, and that was just not how he would be spending one of his precious few break days. 

Still. Where could Velahnhiris go? Certainly not the gardens; those were being renovated. The balcony could be nice for some fresh air, but Velahnhiris didn’t quite enjoy the thought of staring out at the city and doing nothing else. 

Oh. But there was a thought. Perhaps Velahnhiris could visit the city himself in person; the thought was new enough that Velahnhiris actually grinned to himself, idly rubbing the back of his neck. Visiting the city could be really fun! Of course, he couldn’t wear his crown, or any of his usual royal identifiers, but that was fine; Velahnhiris wanted to go incognito — that’s how princes or princesses in stories usually enjoyed the city properly, anyways. 

“In-cog-nito,” Velahnhiris sounded out loud, slowly, and he couldn’t help but laugh. Yeah, that sounded just perfect. 

He bustled about with a sudden burst of eagerness, throwing together an outfit that was at least halfway presentable in the arid Vaenian air; a bit of pink, some breathable white fabric for pants, and discarding almost all of his jewelry but for a piece around his neck that went with his shirt. Velahnhiris admired himself, the moment of levity enough to make him decide that one of his longer sashes would suit the outfit fairly enough; a long sash of blue and gold, two of the oldest colors for royalty, but suitable in this heat. Velahnhiris took a moment more to admire himself in his mirror, nodding just once to himself with a grin that he tried to subdue but failed. It had been such a long while since he felt so earnestly eager for _anything_ he had planned, and Velahnhiris just knew as he stared at his grinning face that this would be just the kind of break he needed.

* * *

Of course, it was a little bit more complicated than just deciding to go out, although the delay just made Velahnhiris step with a bounce on his step even as he logged his probable whereabouts into the data system and privately messaged the guard captain. 

“Don’t you dare,” messaged the guard captain who’d known Velahnhiris for his entire life and knew him as the crybaby child who used to bump into walls and burst into startled tears. 

Chill, Velahnhiris wanted to say back, I’ll be only two hours. Maybe three. I’ll bring you back a snack. Don’t be grumpy. 

What he ACTUALLY sent back was “Please don’t worry about me, Captain, I promise I’ll be very quick and will take all proper precautions,” because Velahnhiris was nothing if not polite. He could almost sense her incandescent rage, which made Velahnhiris work just a bit faster at throwing on a cloak that wouldn’t get caught on his horns that was also fit for public viewing while being blessedly in-cog- _nito_.

  
Being in the city by himself was kind of a trip all in itself. Velahnhiris was alone, no guards, dressed casually amongst the civilians of his father’s capital city. What could be more exciting but safe? Still, Velahnhiris knew even before he left the safety of the palace walls just where he wanted to go. 

_The market._

And indeed, when Velahnhiris finally fumbled his way there after getting lost about four times thanks to winding roads and wrong turns, he couldn’t help but decide that it was worth it just to see the bustling people, to hear the multitude of voices and accents, to smell the scent of spices from faraway planets or the meat gathered from a nearby farm all in the same stall. 

There were fabrics that were hung up over the pathways, giving everyone there shade from the sun under a pleasant array of colors. Velahnhiris couldn’t help a little bounce in his step, heart pounding excitedly as he looked around eagerly. There was delicious foods around every corner; spicy meat being grilled out in the open over shockingly blue flames, fruits being speared and arranged into lovely patterns. There were trinkets being sold, vendors leaning over to entreat any nearby potential customer with their best sale whether it was some sort of toy or porcelain statue or... or just about anything, really! It was all so very much, but Velahnhiris found himself thriving as he took it all on. 

The intimidating red outer walls of the royal palace towered over them all, but Velahnhiris found that even he was forgetting about it as one man with dark green skin, a darker beard and a bit of a belly convinced Velahnhiris to buy just a bite of his bread for hardly anything at all. Velahnhiris decided it would be wise just then to retreat, vowing to come back for round two and determined to not be convinced so easily, but it was nice to rest his feet by the nearby fountain. 

Velahnhiris laughed breathlessly to himself, a quiet little exhale that probably made him look just a bit mad or silly to anyone watching. Maybe he should have worked his way up to the market, but it was kind of worth it regardless. 

He took a bite of the bread. It was sweet, like it had been carefully coated in butter, and still warm. It practically melted in Velahnhiris’ mouth, and it was then that he realized how hungry his excitement had made him as he quickly devoured the rest. 

Velahnhiris was carefully licking the butter from his fingers and claws when he saw someone waving at him. He looked around, but no one else seemed to notice the man waving at him. He pointed at himself. The man nodded, gesturing him over, and so Velahnhiris tentatively stood up from the fountain. 

Velahnhiris approached, a little bit bemused by the waving. No one else seemed to be paying it any mind, faces turned away and curious children directed elsewhere. 

“Er—hello,” Velahnhiris offered, wondering if he’d been recognized. He didn’t exactly live in the limelight, but it wasn’t like no one knew what Velahnhiris looked like either. The man gestured him closer, looking open and eager and honest as could be, but Velahnhiris could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up with startling alarm. 

“I should go,” he hedged, but the man gestured him forward more firmly. Velahnhiris made to step back at the now-alarming eagerness, but couldn’t move because someone had stepped behind him and blocked the way. He hadn’t noticed that he had allowed himself be cornered.

The newcomer had also grabbed his arm, their grip like iron.

“Let me go,” Velahnhiris ordered, panic swelling up in the back of his throat and making it difficult to speak. It made it even more difficult to sound authoritative, which is why his voice came out in a panicked, breathy gasp. 

The person who grabbed him looked at their companion. 

“Yeah, okay, I can see it,” said one nonsensically, and the other nodded with enthusiasm. 

“Right?” He agreed eagerly, which was the moment that the first person was stuffing a sock into Velahnhiris’ mouth. 

“Stophmngh-“ 

“I’m betting a thousand,” said the second one speculatively, staring at his face, and the first shook their head. 

“Only a thousand? Coward, I’m saying three thousand.” 

“How bold,” the man said admiringly, frogmarching Velahnhiris along and not even slowing when he tripped or tried to drag his feet. 

There was a vehicle in front of them, bland as could be and nondescript and... well, Velahnhiris probably would’ve admired just how boring it was to his eyes if he weren’t trying to trip his apparent kidnapper. That only earned him a rough shake, 

“Oh my stars, stop it,” The man groaned while his companion laughed at him. “Hey, shut up, this is hard!” 

“You’re an idiot,” the other one continued laughing, and the man opened his mouth to complain — Velahnhiris caught a glimpse of sharp fangs and a blue tongue, a frightening enough sight that he flinched reflexively and shrank away — when the other kidnapper wannabe took a hold of Velahnhiris by grabbing his head roughly, forcing him to look down with a sharp gesture. 

“Hey, how much can you lift casually?” 

“Er—probably... a hundred and-“ 

“Good enough for me,” the first one declared, and the next thing Velahnhiris knew is that he was seeing stars and stumbling blindly in place. 

“Umngh,” He uttered through the sock, which may have been a shocked incoherent noise even without the sock. Velahnhiris found himself so dizzy that even as he was manhandled into the back of the vehicle he couldn’t see straight, and that was before he felt a sudden pressure on his throat. 

“-still say it’s no less three thousand, could probably push for four,” He heard distantly. The two were arguing, now, voices coming in fast but casual tones. 

“-stupid, huh, no more than two is what I’m thinking, don’t you know anything?” 

“Don’t you? This isn’t rocket science, stars-“ 

Velahnhiris blinked, and he tried to pushed whoever was choking him away, but he couldn’t and it was like pushing against a cement wall, they didn’t budge at all, and black spots were beginning to dance across his vision while it was becoming increasingly difficult to focus his eyes on anything while their voices were more and more distant and-

Nothing. 

* * *

When Velahnhiris regained consciousness, it was all at once. He startled awake with a bad jump, head whipping around easier than he should’ve been able to, and that was when he realized that his hair had been cut short. There were glints of silver clinging to him, covering the entirely unfamiliar shirt he was now wearing in long silver strands of hair; it wasn’t just in the shirt he wore but the ratty and equally unfamiliar pants, topped off by the fine silver hair that piled around him on the floor.

“O-oh,” he uttered out loud, which was also when Velahnhiris realized he didn’t have that sock in his mouth anymore. Maybe it should have been the knowledge that he’d been kidnapped, but it was the silly fact that Velahnhiris’ hair had been cut short while he’d been rendered unconscious that tipped him off that fragile precipice he’d been on this whole time. 

His eyes welled up with tears, no matter that Velahnhiris tried very hard not to, but he looked at that missing section where his hair should’ve been a comforting weight to hide his face behind and Velahnhiris just... felt it hit all at once. 

He was kidnapped. His hair style was ruined despite its distinct coloring. His father may just have no clue where he was. _He_ had no clue where he was. 

Oh, stars; Velahnhiris had been _kidnapped_.

The door opened with a painful sounding creak, chasing away Velahnhiris’ burgeoning panic before he could get swept up in it, but he still startled. There was a woman there, tall with skin like ice and small, sunken eyes red like blood. Her hair was long and straight and black, lanky and greasy but looking as sharp as her nails. It was also thin where it cascaded into her face, more resembling ribbons that happened to stream down her face rather than actual hair; it was all thin and patchy, leaving space where you could see the woman’s head through the hair. 

Her jaw flexed minutely, and Velahnhiris could see a vein, or maybe a muscle, flex under her thin and stretched skin. It made her look like something out of an old horror film. 

She walked closer with precise movements, and Velahnhiris realized, suddenly, that she had no pupils. She was horrifying. Grotesque. Velahnhiris realized with sudden clarity that it was just possible that he might die here, in this rusty room tied to a chair with this terrifying woman in front of him. 

Velahnhiris anxiously wet his lips, frightened. 

“Ex-excuse-excuse me-“ 

The woman stared him down, and whatever courage Velahnhiris had managed to muster just to speak those two words instantly shriveled up and dad a quick, sad death. He felt like-like a fish, about to be tethered to a fishing hook and he could see it approaching but there was nothing he could do because he was silly and stupid enough to be caught in the first place. 

The woman finally spoke, her voice harsh in the abject stillness of the room, and Velahnhiris flinched. It was silent for several long moments before he realized the woman expected an answer to her question, 

“Do you know what I’m going to do to you?” 

“N... no,” he managed through numb lips. Velahnhiris twitched, leaning back in the chair as far he could go with his arms tied to the chair arms when that long, dirty hair _swooshed_ and touched his knee. The woman didn’t even give a facsimile of a smile. Not even how foreign her accent was compared to Velanhiris’ own could manage to be a pleasant distinction.

“I’m going to empty you,” spoke the woman slowly, something horrible about the blankness in which she spoke. “Everything that you are will be mine. I shall devour your hopes and fears and dreams and nightmares, all those silly thoughts and memories that make up who you are. And it will be delicious.”

“There... There isn’t anything that can do that. Is there?” Velahnhiris couldn’t help but say out loud, because it was true; he knew of no piece of technology that could do as this woman so aptly explained. It sounded very illegal though, and dangerous, and just the thing that his father would outlaw for sentient rights violations. 

It was then that she reached out with her hand, dainty and thin like a bird, and-

The sensation that hit Velahnhiris all at once was indescribable. It felt like lightening shot through his veins, like there was a boulder just bouncing around inside his skull all at once. It was like an out of body experience while being intimately aware of every moment that passed, of how his claws dug into the arms of the chair and his muscles spasmed and back arched, teeth gritting and headache building and building until it was all he could feel; with his headache went his memories, falling away like fine sand through his fingers, every echo or fragment gone but a moment later while names and places and sensations and voices fell away into someplace dark and unreachable and he kept forgetting to be afraid, to be so, so afraid because it just kept slipping away and like everything else and and and a n d 

And. 

* * *

There was a woman in front of him, dark hair like thin strips of fabric and ruby eyes dead and cold like a fish. Her akin was pale and blue like a corpse, flesh sticking to bone like something sick and dead that didn’t quite realize it yet. 

He wasn’t afraid. He didn’t know enough to be afraid. But he felt numb, and tired, and he when he looked up at that woman he couldn’t muster up anything but the barest sense of dread. 

She smiled. It was an ugly thing, showing off blunted square bits of bone that were probably teeth with large gaps between them. 

“Name?” 

_Velahn-_

Vellan... what? Just Vellan? 

He blinked, again, dazed and feeling sick to his stomach and something heavy weighing down his heart. The woman above looked like she couldn’t care less about his struggle, only a hint of impatience giving any life to her otherwise cold features. Not even her smile face any emotion to her face. 

“I’m... Vellan,” he managed to say, voice hoarse and weak. It didn’t sound right. The inflection was off, -an where it should be -ahn, but neither sounded like a finished name. The woman nodded absently, tapping something into the digital pad now in her hands; his own hands were free, wrists sore and bruised from being strapped down and released with no warning. Was that always there, or was Vellan just now noticing it it?

“Got it. Go line up in the V’s section.” 

“But-“ 

“I said,” the woman enunciated, lowering the pad to stare him down. “ _Go_.”

Vellan went, shoulders hunched and frightened by that tone, and when he left the room there was someone waiting there. 

This time there were two people, a man and a woman. They looked... bland. Easily forgettable. Like you could see either one in a crowd and almost instantly forget them from how purely ordinary they looked. It made something in Vellan perk up and take notice, but not in a good way. It was like... hearing an alarm, or raised hackles. Something dangerous enough that was saying “Hey, look at me, come and play,” but Vellan very much did not want to play. 

So he looked at the ground and shuffled forward, more shyly than he felt but still just as terrified, and he looked up at them through thick eyelashes in a way he simply knew made him look younger than he was. It was the man on the left who softened first, expression shifting only very slightly. 

“Group?” He questioned even as the woman to the right rolled her bland-bland-bland dark eyes. Vellan wrung his hands, honest anxiety almost certainly palpable with how much he felt. 

“I’m... um... er... she said, um... V..?”

“Cool,” said the man, who might have been a guard or something along those lines. “Follow me, yeah?” 

Vellan didn’t reply, simply shuffling along, and that was that. 

“Pretty face though,” the woman remarked cooly, something dispassionate in her voice, and the man snorted, although they both turned to look at Vellan in a way that made him wish he were anywhere else, _anyone_ else. 

“Come on, don’t be crass.” 

“Am I? Sorry, figured it was obvious.” 

The man snorted, and he cast a look back at Vellan. 

“Hey, kid. How d’you feel about fu-“

The woman rolled her eyes and smacked his shoulder before he could finish. 

“Now who’s crass, huh? At least I have some measure of tact, dumbass.”

They both rolled their eyes at one another, which was the last that anyone spoke until Vellan was lead to a door with a faded V on it. He looked around, and while there were other nearby doors they didn’t seem to be in order consider the B and J he could see. Vellan was pretty much pushed in, and he hovered anxiously in the doorway even as he could hear it being locked behind him. 

The room was square, and fairly big; there were windows into other nearby rooms where he could see down, down, down the long rows full of people like a sort of inverted endless mirror where each reflection was different than the last. Vellan anxiously bit at his finger tips almost hard enough to draw blood until someone else further in his room sighed and welcomed him in with a tired gesture. 

The one who greeted him was tall and broad-shouldered, skin golden and glittering like a jewel of sorts. He was shirtless, too, for whatever reason, and Vellan had a bizarre moment of clarity where he thanked whoever was listening for at least leaving him a shirt. It was a bit hard to look elsewhere but that very broad chest, though, so even as Vellan felt his face grow... whatever color it might have been, lighter or dark than this deep pink or red his skin was, certainly warm... He looked away, embarrassed and hoping he hadn’t been staring. 

“Memory wiped?” The man asked, something gentle in his voice, and Vellan nervously wrung his hands. 

“I-I don’t... um... maybe?” 

The man nodded with a sigh, entirely unsurprised. 

“Yeah, thought so. Least you’re not like her,” and the man nodded at someone who was drooling a few groups down, her pale face looking sickly, eyes rolled up in the back of her head, and a thick line of drool slipping down her face. She was sitting bonelessly on the ground, knees folded uncomfortably under her like a puppet whose strings were cut abruptly. 

Vellan grimaced without meaning to at the sight, and the man snorted at his expression. 

“You’ll get used to it. You will.” He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, and Vellan rocked on his heels anxiously at the clear dismissal. This was all... confusing. 

So, so confusing. 

This all felt like a bad dream, like nothing was really happening around him. Vellan’s mind was all fogged up, memories gone and emptying his head of every little thought but what was going on in the present. The past felt like a— like a sort of myth, or story, like something that just happened to other people who’s minds didn’t feel like one giant, confusing bruise. But it was real, it had to be, because Vellan was almost certain that dreams didn’t hurt this much, they didn’t make people stare at Vellan in a such a way that made him want to start clawing at his skin and never stop until the bone was exposed and he was bleeding and- 

His breath was coming in quicker now. Panicked, shallow gasps inhaled sharply through his nose, trembling lips pressed together. This... really sucked. Stars above but it REALLY sucked. 

Vellan reached up absently to brush back his hair, startling badly when he touched his cheek instead. He couldn’t help but stare at his hand for a moment, feeling betrayed that there wasn’t hair there like he’d been expecting but even tufts of soft whiteness that just barely framed his cheeks. 

The man who had talked to Vellan saw this and snorted, looking tired and weary, and said nothing more. This was how the next several hours passed, but there was only so much anxiously waiting for something to happen that you could do before it slowly trickled into boredom, and then exhaustion as you finally crashed. 

At least, that’s how it felt for Vellan; he woke up what must’ve been some time later when the low buzz of indistinct chatter suddenly rose and then stopped, the suddenness of the silence jarring him awake like a shoddy alarm clock. 

They — whoever they were — were hauling a cart in the opened doorway, and in their hand Vellan could see something silver and gleaning. Something round but hollow, like a cylinder that had only the walls. 

A collar. 

Vellan bit his cheek. Something in him instinctively reared back at the thought of being collared, like it was an idea so insulting as to be... as to be... purely impossible. Debasing. The _audacity_ , something in him instinctively reared. It made him want to slink back to the furthest corner of the room, but Vellan knew that wouldn’t help even as they were all corralled into a single line. He saw the man with the golden skin and tired eyes get collared, and then another, and another and... And then it was Vellan’s turn, and the person doing the collaring didn’t say anything as they clipped cold metal around his neck. 

Vellan caught a glimpse of a couple of dark, armored figures with weapons through the open door, so he was only too glad to shrink back and skitter his way anxiously across the room. The sensation of the heavy metal around his neck made tears burn his eyes, and Vellan anxiously pulled at the hair falling into his face and getting into his eyes. 

This couldn’t be real, it simply couldn’t, but what could he say or do, how could he react? Vellan felt powerless, and exhausted, and empty. But this had to be the worst of it, or Vellan would simply die. It had to be because Vellan would die and he didn’t want to die, he wanted to know what was going on and why he was here and what had HAPPENED- 

He just. Wanted to stop being so confused. 

Vellan pressed shaking hands into his eyes, feeling miserable, and took a deep breath that shuddered and rattled around in his chest uneasily. Through the windows of the room he could see a group just a bit down the ways being collared like they’d been, and Vellan bit his lip almost hard enough to draw blood, but that was when he saw his reflection for the first time in the glass.

His skin was that sort of... dark red, or pink, or whatever it was all the way. His sclera was black, and his eyes were a peachy orange. His hair was bright silver and messy and probably a little tangled with a large spot of pale dusty blue to it. A blue-gray that was more blue than gray, or at least he thought so. Vellan was finding that he probably wasn’t the best at identifying colors, although the poor lighting didn’t particularly help. There were faintly curved black horns that looked sharp and stood out starkly against the silver of his hair, though they looked nice enough he supposed. A closer inspection of his face brought Vellan to the realization that he had bright pink freckles on his face that blended in with his skin. 

They were also bright even in the dark, and the term bioluminescent popped into Vellan’s mind at once. Huh. 

Overall, he looked... Nice. Soft. Like Vellan had never had a bad thing to worry about before. Must’ve been nice. WEll, he'd clearly been crying, but other than that. 

The door opened again, drawing Vellan’s attention. Someone else was in the doorway, and he could see more of those armed black figures. How many people were involved in this, he wondered. Dozens? Hundreds? A select few people rotating their jobs around, maybe? There was just no way to tell, Vellan reflected as he obediently lined up along with the others. 

It was someone who was neither a man nor a woman, this time, who looked like they were checking off boxes as each person reluctantly stepped up. The person would look down at their pad, check something off, and then whoever was stood there would be forced out the door swiftly. Vellan couldn’t see them afterwards, and he had a feeling he probably never would again. 

But then it was Vellan’s turn, and he anxiously smoothed out the front of his shirt in an action that seemed more habit than anything helpful. The person with the pad looked up, and then looked down at Vellan, and they snorted before ticking something off with a bit of a flourish — Vellan didn’t really have anytime to question it because then it was his turn to be ushered out the door. One of those terrifying armored folks broke off from an astonishingly large group lying in wait, gesturing silently with their gun to walk, and so Vellan walked. 

He didn’t exactly have a choice, really, unless walking or being shot counted as choices. They were kind of terrible choices, all things said and done. 

While Vellan was distracted by ruminating on how unfair the illusion of choice was when there was really no choice at all, the guard... person... possibly hired mercenary of sorts had sternly led Vellan to what he instantly knew was a pretty cruddy docking bay. It looked as worn and rusted as the rest of this ever so charming location, which was to say it looked like literal garbage held together through sheer spite. 

Vellan grimaced at it all, felt incredibly snobby for doing so, but then decided that he deserved to feel snobby because he’d literally been kidnapped by these people. Ugh. If they didn’t want their poor interior design choices to be judged, they shouldn’t kidnap people. 

Well, unless he had... volunteered, maybe? But Vellan couldn’t see ANYONE volunteering for this, so he was determinedly going to continue under the assumption that he’d almost certainly been kidnapped. 

The presumable-guard gestured sharply at one of the docking ramps, and Vellan stared at it skeptically. There was a crude spray painted image of people engaged in... very descriptive acts. It looked fairly unsafe just to approach, and Vellan was half afraid he’d catch a disease purely by being near it. But then Vellan looked back at the gun in the guard’s hands and recalled his sense of self-preservation, remembering that being shot was still very much a possibility. 

The guard gestured again, and Vellan could take a hint; he approached the ramp. He was probably going to die from some venereal disease just from looking at that very pornographic image, but it was done. He approached the ramp, carefully tiptoeing his way up to avoid the rustier spots, and hesitantly entered the docking tube. That... that fiddly retractable bit of space ship that connected to docking bays. Vellan couldn’t recall the term, much like the rest of his life, but he knew what he meant and that would have to be enough. 

But standing in the entryway to what was undoubtably a space-ready ship made this real. It made Vellan realize that if he stepped through here then there could be no return from what might happen in the future. He could be hurt, or killed, or worse. There had to be something worse than being hurt or killed, Vellan knew, even if he didn’t quite know the specifics just yet. If he stepped through here, Vellan would... probably find out what that worst was. It would probably have something to do with the skin crawling way that people kept looking at him. 

This was fine. This was fine. If Vellan repeated it enough it would be true so _this was fine._

He stepped forward. 


	2. Chapter 2

There was a sort of serene boredom in Knowing for sure what would happen each day, every day. 

Vellan woke up. He ate, if he was lucky. He had a customer. He had another customer. He could have many or few customers, depending on how much money they were spending for time alone with him. Or not alone, if they brought friends. Sometimes the more shameless customers brought friends; it could be messy and painful and left Vellan sore and bruised in more than one way, but that was usually few and far between. Later Vellan might get dinner, if he was lucky. He slept. 

Rinse, repeat. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. 

Vellan still looked the same as that first time he’d caught a glimpse of his face almost three years previous; skin still dark red, freckles still bright; maybe a bit scrawnier and weaker than then. His hair remained a light silver that looked ethereal in certain lights and marred by only a single patch of blue-purple that bled into his bangs; it was all frequently cut short to prevent him from choking on it. There was someone, Vellan knew with the sort of knowledge that probably wasn’t even third hand, who had managed to strangle themselves with their hair. Vellan couldn’t imagine it, but his imagination wasn’t very good anyways. 

He thought he might like to grow his hair out though, one day, if he ever got the chance. Just the thought of running his fingers through his hair made Vellan smile. It would feel nice to brush, certainly, if he kept it soft and manageable. 

Still. Vellan probably didn’t have much of a chance of convincing his handler to allow him to. Just the thought of their cold gaze made Vellan’s tentative smile drop off his face, and he turned to the window to distract himself from the memory of that chilling expression. The stars felt brighter than usual, and despite being in an asteroid belt they wouldn’t see their next asteroid for hours. It made Vellan feel like the only person alive in the universe in all this emptiness. 

Of course, Vellan’s greatest gift was his dramatic irony. Which is why that no sooner was Vellan indulging in the feeling of just how small and alone he felt when looking at the vastness of space, another ship sort of... shimmered into view. Like particles relearning how they were meant to be, the opposite of disintegrating. Reintegrating? It was the sort of strangeness one expected when a ship came into view after instantaneously traveling a very, very far distance. 

Hyperspace, the uninformed might call it. Vellan liked to secretly call it _warping_ , because it was silly and fun to call something so serious warping. 

But Vellan couldn’t get carried away and lost in his own musings because up there, a few miles away that looked like it could barely be a skip of a stone when they were the only things around, was that other starship simply hanging like a small moon among the stars, still and solemn. It was a nice deep and earthy green, so different from their own drab gray. Vellan, he decided, would love a green starship. Or maybe one that was blue, or lilac; something soft and gentle, like a morning sky. Vellan could see mornings, sometimes, when they were planetside. 

There wasn’t much movement, stretching into achingly long moments, but Vellan supposed the captains might be talking with one another. Maybe it would result in something dramatic, like an epic space battle! Or maybe it was a simple communication. Certainly not routine; Vellan had never seen that build before, nor were they ever stopped by a single large spacecraft. 

Still; there was only so much that even Vellan could stand to stare out his window with nothing happening, so he shuffled back to his overly large bed and face planted into it. How disappointing; Vellan had expected something _interesting_ to happen. Something dynamic! Something to chase away the mundane. Vellan wasn’t allowed books or to watch televised programs and was only barely allowed eating utensils as it was; all he had was his admittedly poor imagination, so a chance encounter with a fellow starship was the most interesting thing to occur all week.

Vellan briefly entertained thoughts of being a pilot, of soaring through the stars and going where _he_ wanted, talking to who _he_ wanted and letting whoever _he_ allowed to touch him. 

He was distracted hardly a moment later, however, because the ship sort of... trembled. Vellan would think it a very small and quick earthquake, except for the part where they were practically marooning themselves in dead space. Vellan sat up, frowning. That didn’t feel right. He turned back to the window, and... Well, he couldn’t immediately see anything wrong, but that didn’t mean much; he wouldn’t see a smoke trail if a missile had been launched and hit some other portion of the ship, nor would he now see any pods or vessel-swapping ships approaching to dock. 

Vellan realized quite suddenly that he was rather regretting all desire for something interesting to happen. 

He jumped when an alarm began blaring; it was something that Vellan had heard only once before, back when he’d been... Put into the custody of his handler. The alarm back then had been because there had been an uprising from quite a few of his fellow recent captives. It hadn’t taken longer than a day for the chaos to be forcibly shut down, but Vellan could still remember the terror that experiencing everything New had brought him without any previous experiences of his own to compare it all with. 

This felt a little bit like experiencing it all for the first time, and the starship just a bit away with the earthy green paint no longer seemed interesting but instead rather ominous. 

Vellan felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle as if in alarm at some unseen enemy, and he tugged uncomfortably at the iron collar around his neck in response. He was... probably overthinking this. Overreacting. Being paranoid. It was probably just some elite, high-paying clients who didn’t like to be told no, Vellan reflected without much hope. It would have to happen at some point, wouldn’t it, that someone wouldn’t take no for an answer? Wouldn’t accept an offer to reschedule? 

The floor shook again, more violently than the last, and this time Vellan caught a glimpse of a streak of fire-orange originating from the other ship. He stared. 

“... Oh, no,” he finally said out loud, watching it _zoom_ just out of sight. The floor shook for a third time. Oh, no, indeed. 

Vellan slowly pivoted to look behind himself. The door was locked. He hadn’t stepped a foot outside his room since he was put in it, and he knew there were escape pods, but. But, even if Vellan did somehow manage to get the door open, it wasn’t like he knew his way around the ship. He’d just get lost. He would probably get hurt, if they were being... Attacked, or bombarded, or whatever it was that was happening. 

He took a deep breath. Held it. Released it when his lungs began to burn. 

This was fine. This was fine, Vellan laughed to himself nervously, and tugged anxiously at the hem of his shirt. There was absolutely no reason to panic-

And then the door to his room _swished_ open, giving Vellan a heart attack, and this was No Longer Fine. 

“Oh, man, haha — I didn’t realize there was anyone in here!” Said a voice. It was distinctly female, though rougher than Vellan might have expected. The physique of the woman who entered, however, was certainly no surprise. 

She was tall. Her skin like bronze, maybe, or gold. Golden bronze. Broad shoulders that rippled with muscles at every distinct twitch or movement, making it hard not to stare. Long brown hair tied back, black little fins that looked like wings for ears that faded into her cheek, and sharp pink eyes that crinkled into a half-feral grin. She wore a... a sort of battle dress, Vellan supposed. Something tight and flattering and very light beige, appearing fit more for a gala than anything else, but so at odds with the casual way the woman held a large gun slung easily over her shoulder that it was all Vellan could do to blink helplessly. 

“Hey,” she said, a little breathless, and she grinned even wider. Vellan realized absently that her teeth looked much duller than his own, and made for far less of a terrifying smile than it might otherwise be. 

“... Hi,” Vellan managed, feeling a little bit like he was going to die. 

“So, I’m Neaswe. This IS a slaver ship, right? Because we totally were told that they were one and I’m definitely not looking forward to the paperwork if we’re wrong,” she laughed, just a touch sheepishly, and Vellan had to shyly cover his own mouth. 

He did point helpfully at his collar, though, even as he winced at the word slave. 

“Uh... Yes, er, yeah. Yes. Yeah, this is... probably the right place, if, um, that’s what you were looking for.”

The woman — Neaswe’s smile froze just a bit, and she took another look around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Her eyes went from the bed to Vellan’s collar and back again. She grinned wider, and this time Vellan decided she didn’t need razor sharp teeth to smile terrifyingly. 

“Oh. _Oh_. You’re-? Okay. Come here just a moment, won’t you?” 

Vellan dithered in place, caught off guard by the... request, he supposed. Maybe a polite demand. It was politer than most. He hedged forward, half expecting to be—oh, Vellan didn’t know. Struck? Shot, by that absurdly large gun? Maybe just strangled. Maybe Vellan was even about to be spaced. It would certainly be a more unique death than strangulation or shooting, he thought with what Vellan considered cautious optimism but was really just lesser negativity. 

Neaswe held something up, and Vellan leaned back with a flinch, but all he heard was a click. He held himself very, very still and barely dared to breathe, and his eyes were kept firmly closed. 

Neaswe’s rough voice was gentle when she spoke; “Hey, it’s alright. Try tugging that piece of scrap off your neck, yeah? Gotta be pretty heavy.” 

Vellan cautiously, obediently reached up, eyes still screwed shut. He felt around the collar — and there was a, an opening, there, a crack in what was supposed to be seamless metal, right under his chin, and Vellan hesitantly tugged at it with shaking hands. 

It came off, and Vellan jumped and stared at his feet where that familiar, wretched collar lay. It was so unassuming, but it had tethered Vellan for as long as he could remember. Seeing it on the ground rather than adorning his neck brought unwilling tears to Vellan’s eyes, and he sniffled. 

“Aw, don’t cry,” Neaswe soothed, “Look, it’s happy hour, yeah? Please don’t be upset, you’ll set me off too and then where will we be?” 

“I’m-I’m just... very happy right now,” Vellan sniffed wetly, and Neaswe’s features were relieved when he glanced up at her. 

“Oh, good! So hey, wanna get out? Get some sun, get some food... glass of water for your nerves?” 

That all sounded kind of amazing, and like a very real possibility rather than a very nice kind of daydream. Neaswe held out a hand, a sort of gentlewomanly gesture that looked graceful with her other hand tucked behind her back. It looked like he was being asked to dance, although the comparison being made even just to himself made Vellan’s face warm up. Still, he took her hand. 

Vellan tentatively grinned, and Neaswe smiled back like the sun. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, you guys, I just really love Neaswe and Velahnhiris and just... everything about their story fhhfghfj 🥺💖
> 
> Thanks to everyone who’s bookmarked or left a kudos!!

The months felt like mere days, passing by faster than anytime before that Vellan could remember. 

He fell in love with Neaswe as fast as someone dropping a rock into a puddle and watching it sink. It was as easy as breathing, almost easier; Vellan could never keep his eyes away from her when she entered a room, and sometimes he thought that Neaswe seemed almost as starstruck by his own presence; she always smiled so brightly whenever their eyes met, peach meeting bright pink. Vellan wanted to hold her hands, to feel whether she ran hot or cold under her skin, to always have that smile directed at him and to maybe even earn a kiss-

But that was getting ahead of himself; even Vellan knew that much, as pleasant as such daydreams were whether sleeping or awake. 

For the moment Vellan was content enough in catching up on the universe, filling in the gaps of his knowledge that had been undoubtably emptied from his head by some psionic or similarly gifted being. Vellan knew only distantly about such beings; psychic was a broad term to describe them, and such abilities granted them anywhere from dream walking to telekinesis. It covered a long, long list of races and species’. There was... a profit to be made from them, in the slave trade and other, darker things. 

Vellan didn’t like to think about it, so he usually didn’t. 

Neaswe helped, when she could; Vellan’s first impression of Neaswe being a warrior queen wasn’t too far off, as it had turned out; Neaswe _was_ a queen, so she was fairly busy. Vellan hadn’t yet figured out if it was an elected position or hereditary; he thought it might be hereditary, but he was three months into his stay at the Masrii Palace at Neaswe’s behest so it was far too late and embarrassing to ask _now!_ He would just have to keep a discreet ear out for the answer. 

Still, everything was nearly perfect even with Vellan’s minor embarrassments. Neaswe’s cousin, the very handsome lord Afiran Brésuyl, was always helpful and seemed to know the answer to every question Vellan could think of. He always smiled at Vellan, too, in a way that had him never sure of how to react. Vellan thought his role might be that of a scribe, but it was a bit of an obsolete position with modern recording devices; did people even transcribe meetings anymore? Vellan decided the answer was no, although that left him at even more of a loss as to what Lord Afiran actual position in the palace was. Perhaps the term socialite was more befitting than anything else.

Not that it really mattered, Vellan would end up thinking whenever his mind traveled to this topic; Lord Afiran was very kind, so Vellan wished him only good things to come. 

Still, Lord Afiran had absolutely nothing on Neaswe if Vellan were to guiltily compare the two. It was rude, he knew, to compare anyone against someone else, but Vellan simply couldn’t help it; Neaswe was... she was... 

He couldn’t think of an accurate enough description for her, Vellan finally conceded after several long moments of thinking. Neaswe was good and kind and intelligent, and very much herself; maybe that was all that mattered in the end, so that Vellan didn’t really need to think of anything to accurately compare her to. 

Still... still. Not even Vellan could ruminate all day on his two sponsors in these gilded walls. 

Vellan made himself get up to look out at the city through the window. He wondered, looking out at the cream-stone buildings, whether it was imitation of the palace or planetary culture that led to the city looking like this. It couldn’t be real stone, he didn’t think; perhaps something artificial that could have wiring easily woven into the walls. The buildings varied from beige to white to brown; almost plain looking from all the way up here, but Vellan knew that there was a subtle sheen and sparkle to the walls if you were right up on them, unlike the simple smoothness of the palace. The palace was like marble, while the plainer buildings below were like cement. But they were both still elegant in their simplicity. 

Standing up here and looking out of this glassless window with a gentle breeze on this fairly hot day, making his hair sway with every gentle push, was incredibly soothing; Vellan leaned against against the window frame to lazily hang his hands over the edge. He almost imagined he could catch the wind like this, relaxed and sedated and entirely at ease-

“Hey,” said Neaswe in the doorway, as cool as the wind, and Vellan almost jumped out of the window. 

Face warmer than the early noon sunlight filtering down, Vellan quickly stood up and tried to discreetly rid his outfit of any wrinkles gained from crouching beside the window. He felt like a child having been caught sneaking deserts away from the kitchen, but magnified a thousand fold from being caught in such a childish position when he was most certainly an adult. 

“ _Neaswe_ ,” Vellan greeted only to immediately want to die at how high and thin his voice had gone, breathless in his surprise. 

Neaswe smiled, all genial kindness without any hint of mocking. 

“What’re you doing?” She asked, coming to stand beside him. Vellan looked up at her out of the corner of his eye even as they both faced the window. 

“I was enjoying the wind,” he admitted honestly despite his embarrassment, and Neaswe made an understanding sound. She absently tied her coppery hair back up into a loose ponytail, which swayed as easily in the wind as Vellan’s own hair. 

“The breeze definitely feels fantastic,” Neaswe sighed with obvious enjoyment, moving to partially sit on the window sill. Her face turned back to grin at Vellan. 

“Is this where you sometimes go? I can leave if you’d rather be alone.” 

“No!” Vellan blurted, and his face felt like a thousand fires with how embarrassed he was by such a quick refusal. “I-I mean, I don’t mind if you’re here. You don’t have to leave. Unless you want to!”

Neaswe laughed, gently. Vellan had seen her yell and get into fights and throw punches with politicians and nobles who never immediately accepted what she had to say, but with Vellan she was almost always gentle. She reached out, just as gently and even more slowly moving silver strands of fine hair out of Vellan’s face to look him in the eye. 

She continued smiling even as her hand moved back to rest in her lap, and Vellan tried not to be disappointed by the sudden loss. 

“Are you-I mean, is your work for the day done?” Vellan asked, just to have something to say. It was a struggle to not duck his head shyly; that would muss up his bangs and ruin Neaswe’s effort. 

She beamed in response at the question, lighting up brilliantly. 

“Oh! Yeah, I’m done pretty early, aren’t I? I finished most of it yesterday, honestly... Thought it might be nice just to have a break day.”

Vellan tentatively grinned back, unable to help it at Neaswe’s happiness for something so simple. 

“You are pretty busy,” he broached cautiously, slowly relaxing. Neaswe chuckled, more of a soft exhale of air than anything else. 

“Oh, you could say that again. But you’re pretty busy too, huh? Catching up on everything,” She pointed out. It was only because that it was Neaswe saying it that Vellan didn’t feel near as embarrassed as he might have otherwise, but he still couldn’t help a distinct twinge of deep mortification. 

“O-oh... I try my best,” Vellan demurred, just a second too delayed to be polite. Neaswe didn’t point out his faltering manners, a considerate kindness from her. 

Instead she smiled, leaning closer; it was all Vellan could do not to lean away in response. Not because he didn’t want to be close to her, but because even three months later he still sometimes found it difficult to be near someone without the expectation of anything else. 

But this was Neaswe, Vellan firmly told himself; he could stand a few minutes of discomfort if it brought him closer to the woman who gave him so much without asking anything in return. He _wanted_ to be closer to Neaswe; the absurd skin crawling sensation pounding through his veins would simply have to put up with it. 

“Were you planning on doing anything today?” Neaswe asked, her tone earnest and just a shade off from being overtly hopeful. She looked as if she might reach out and take Vellan’s hands to entreat him. The thought was almost too much to bear, and Vellan hoped desperately that it wasn’t obvious how badly his face was flushed at the direction his thoughts had gone. 

“Er,” he managed, voice breaking, and tried again. “I-I mean, I was... only planning to spend some time here... maybe read later this evening... but certainly nothing I can’t put off,” Vellan hastened to assure her. Neaswe grinned and stood up, offering him a hand. 

Vellan took it, and noted in the very back of his mind that her hand was warm from resting in the sunlight. 

“Do you mind taking a walk in the gardens with me?” Neaswe asked him, only the barest trace of what could have been her own nervousness coloring her tone. But that was probably a mistake on Vellan’s part, projecting his own nerves onto her. Still, Neaswe _had_ asked a question so Vellan quickly nodded. 

“I’d love to,” he said honestly, and his voice even came out relatively confident. It made Neaswe grin wider, at least, and her golden cheeks gained a hint of something redder. Vellan couldn’t help but stare. 

He didn’t think he’d _ever_ seen Neaswe blush before. 

Vellan unfortunately had no more time to think on this realization before Neaswe was leading him out of the open parlor and into one of the Masrí Palace’s many long, winding hallways. There were plenty of banners bearing the personal insignia’s from previous rulers hanging on the walls, each in their own coordinating colors that left the impression of a tasteful collage when you looked down certain hallways. Others had fabrics hanging from the ceiling, like how one might expect ceiling lights or chandeliers to be located. They were artfully placed, and the sheerness of them cast colors down the hallway as if painted glass covered every window. Tints of blue or purple or green were all very pretty colors to see cast onto the walls and floors, like dyed shadows. 

Neaswe didn’t quite let go of Vellan’s hand even as they walked side by side, and Vellan couldn’t help his repeated stares towards where she touched him. Even when they passed by servants or guests of Neaswe’s who quickly ducked into modest bows or nodded in greeting, Vellan felt more aware of Neaswe’s hand than he did the eyes of anyone who might see them. He looked up at Neaswe, who’s face still had hints of red and who’s pink eyes were still looking forward, but she must have felt him staring up at her because she looked down at him and wordlessly smiled. 

Vellan smiled back, a lingering piece of anxiety almost instantly fading away at that silent reassurance, and the rest of their walk to the garden was spent in a companionable silence. 

It was only when they arrived at the garden in all its greenery with teals and reds and jades did Neaswe release his hand, and they walked along the simple stone path that trailed beside the garden’s long fountain, built to resemble a miniature river shaped with white stone that stood out against the thick grass and vines. 

“... Thank you for joining me,” Neaswe finally sighed out, sounding utterly content. Vellan rocked on his heels slightly, mouth closing from having been just about to thank Neaswe in turn for inviting him. 

Vellan instead smiled and glanced up at her out of the corner of his eye. 

“Thank you for having me,” He replied after a moment, and Neaswe shot him a lopsided grin. The sunlight filtering through blue leaves overhead hit her just right, making Neaswe’s eyes sparkle. 

“Really though,” she said earnestly, “I mean it. I’m happy you’re here with me, just in general.” 

“I’m happy to be here,” Vellan said honestly. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you, or where I’d go. I don’t know if I’ve ever thanked you for it, either, so thank you.” 

Neaswe hummed in acknowledgement and didn’t give him false encouragement. They both knew that Vellan could just as easily fallen back into his previous situation without assistance, connectionless amnesiac as he was. Vellan appreciated the honesty more than he knew how to express. 

They were stopped, now, before one of the ornate wooden benches that decorated the gardens. Neaswe sat, all careless grace, and Vellan joined her with little hesitation. 

Birds sang, distantly. The wind blew through the trees with the sunlight as an ever present observer, and Vellan’s heart pounded soundlessly in his chest. Neaswe and he both silently looked on at this carefully cultivated bit of nature. Trees with white bark and blue leaves towered above them, providing shade, and the coolness of the water could be felt without even getting wet. 

Vellan could see dark little fish swimming along the gentle current, bobbing along mindlessly, and he felt a sort of kinda kinship with them just then. He, too, was bobbing along somewhat mindlessly, but Neaswe was the current he drifted along. 

Neaswe’s hand touched his own softly, and Vellan found that he didn’t startle in this peaceful atmosphere they were surrounded by. 

“Can I tell you something?” She asked, voice gentle and quiet. Vellan nodded looking up at her through his eyelashes. This felt like a very important moment, one he was almost to shy to go through. 

“I like you, a lot,” she said, almost thoughtfully, and Vellan waited for her to finish with a patience betrayed by his own heartbeat. 

“I think I like you a bit too much, even,” Neaswe admitted, like sharing a dirty secret. “I’ve only known you since... Well. But you’re-Vellan, you’re so _smart_. you know and consider things I’ve never even thought about, and you’re kind even after everything. And I know there are things I’ll probably never know about you, but it feels like every time I talk to you I find out something new.” 

Neaswe looked him in the eye, now, and she was biting her lip. Vellan realized with startling clarity that she was _nervous_.

“But it feels selfish, to want more than what I have with you. I like being friends with you, Vellan. You’re funny, and you always look so calm.” 

Vellan didn’t particularly feel calm; he felt like he was having a heart attack. But his tongue felt too thick for words, throat tightened into one big emotionally constricted knot. He reached out to shakily hold Neaswe’s hands, and she gently squeezed them. 

Even now she was so, so gentle. 

“But that’s just on my side,” Neaswe continued, a sort of careful reverence in her voice as she stared at him. “I know what I would like, but— you might never want a relationship with anyone, ever, you know? And there’s nothing wrong with that. Because you’ve been through some really hard things, even though you don’t talk about it, and I know this kind of thing is probably really scary. It’s okay to say no, if you don’t feel the same.” 

And Vellan looked at Neaswe, this impulsive queen of what was a middling tier planet. This woman who opened her heart easily without asking for anything in return, who used words like kind or smart instead of pretty or beautiful to describe him. Vellan looked at her, blood rushing as he remembered all those little moments of her smiling at him, and being careful whenever she touched him and she was always quick to give him space and, and, and. 

He leaned forward. 

Vellan kissed her, a chaste press of his lips to her cheek, and he had to stretch a bit to reach her because she was that much taller than him, but it was still enough to make the world around them go silent. 

“I like you too,” Vellan admitted, voice somewhat strangled by how much he was feeling all at once. “I’ve liked you almost since I first saw you, and your first reaction was to be nice to me. I was so taken aback by how you didn’t ask me anything, and then you invited me into your home and I remember thinking, _this is it, this is where it all goes back to normal_ , but you changed my normal so effortlessly that I stopped waiting for everything to go back and started going forward instead.” 

Neaswe looked at him, appearing as though she was so overcome by the depth of her own emotions that she wanted to cry. 

Vellan gave her a watery smile of his own. 

“I really like you. I like how happy you are whenever we talk, I like how sunlight catches in your hair... I like your smile and your voice a-and... and I always find new things to like about you just from you being _you_.” 

_I look forward to seeing you every day because with every smile of yours I fall a little more in love,_ Vellan wanted to say but couldn’t. 

Neaswe sniffled, a little wetly, and she leaned down closer to Vellan. 

“Can I kiss you?” She asked, on the verge of sobbing, and Vellan knew in his heart of hearts that everything Neaswe was could only be good. 

“If it’s you, you don’t have to ask me,” Vellan murmured, and Neaswe took his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, like some storybook knight from some far flung era. 

“Because it’s me and you, I want to always ask. I never want to make you uncomfortable,” she said very seriously. It was Vellan’s turn to tear up, and he wiped at his eyes with his free hand and laughed while his heart swelled with affection freely given. 

“You’re so-I just... I’m so happy right now,” Vellan blubbered, and he almost folded in on himself as he began to cry in earnest; thick sobs shaking his shoulders and making him tremble, while Neaswe gently tucked him into her side and hugged him, arms loose and comforting around him while she hid her face in his hair. 

“It’s okay, I get it,” Neaswe cried more quietly, and Vellan hugged her back. They stayed together like this for a very long time, crying under the trees without growing hot in the sun or cold in the breeze, and at some point when their eyes were irritated and incapable of leaking anymore wetness they pulled away; still holding each other’s hands, still pressed close against one another. 

But they were smiling, was the important thing. Vellan dabbed at Neaswe’s tears with the handkerchief he carried around for his own bouts of impromptu crying, while Neaswe gently wiped away his own tears with her hands softly brushing them away. They leaned into one another’s touches and kept holding hands and traded shy kisses to their wet cheeks, tasting salt and love, and it felt like they were school children of ten catching a moment of innocent affection with each other. 

They weren’t so innocent, of course. Vellan was so severely traumatized that it would take years to properly confront it all, and he wasn’t so caught up in himself that he didn’t suspect that there were things Neaswe would have to come to terms with herself, things she may have done or would do in her tenure as queen. Their relationship would be a struggle, too; Neaswe was bound to cross a boundary that neither of them knew was there to cross, and they would probably fight, eventually, even if it seemed strange and impossible in this moment... But Vellan had faith, in himself and Neaswe, a sort of faith he’d never before possessed. 

They would be able to talk anything out, the two of them. They’d be able to figure out any problem together, communicating and letting no hurt feelings go unresolved. Vellan could see it now, all those happy possibilities stretching before him years and years into the future, and when Neaswe stood up and offered her his hand with sparkling eyes, Vellan grasped it eagerly. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I struggle with this chapter?? I absolutely. Am I satisfied with this chapter??? I have no idea honestly haha

In the weeks after those previous events that still felt so recent in his mind, Vellan considered himself to be coping with everything fairly well right up until he had a panic attack from kissing Neaswe chastely on the cheek a month after they got together, but, well, you know. You win some and you lose some. 

At least, that’s what Vellan tried to tell himself even as Neaswe hovered without quite touching him. She offered him a glass of water, and Vellan took it regretfully even before Neaswe opened her mouth to say the dreaded words. 

“I think you should see someone,” Neaswe blurted. 

Vellan, as he was most wont to do, tried to pretend he had no idea what she meant by avoiding the subject. 

“I... am? I-I mean, er, haha, I’m... I’m seeing _you_ , you know, so-“

“ _Vellan_.” 

He cringed away, busying himself with drinking the rest of the water and pretending to still drink even when it was gone. Neaswe looked slightly unimpressed and Vellan recalled only then that the glass was transparent. 

Ah. Hubris, thy name was Vellan. 

“Are you seriously going to keep pretending to use that?” 

Vellan decided that it didn’t matter that his true failing was hubris and looked Neaswe dead in the eyes as he quite pointedly continued to act as though his drink were full. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he answered, voice sounding like a far away echo as he spoke into the glass. 

Neaswe sighed, deeply. 

“You definitely need a therapist.” 

“... You know that I’m aware there’s not any water in here, right?” 

“ _That’s not the point and you know it._ ”

Vellan, determined to totally derail the conversation, lowered his glass to give a haughty sniff. 

“ _Actually_ -“

* * *

They were temporarily side tracked at that time, of course, but the conversation was far from done; Neaswe didn’t quite incessantly bother Vellan on the subject of attaining a therapist, but that wasn’t to say that she was wholly quiet about it either. It was more akin to... Patiently waiting for the opportunity to present itself before bringing it up again, if that made any sense. Neaswe would simply wait until Vellan had a moment of relative panic, if it wasn’t crass to mention it then. Once Vellan had knocked over a glass, and it didn’t even break, but Vellan had still had still been shaken enough that he’d been unable to clean it up properly at all with how badly his hands shook and Vellan had to sit on a nearby chair to weather through his panic attack while Neaswe spoke to him in a calm, soothing voice. 

She didn’t mention therapy, then. She didn’t need to, when all Vellan could hear echoing in his head was her voice going _You definitely need a therapist._

Of course, Vellan was also truly and deeply aware that he needed... Something or other. Maybe not therapy, necessarily, but he needed _something_. So Vellan did what Vellan did best; he tried as hard as possible to repress his trauma and logic it away internally. 

(This, too, failed. Vellan ended up screaming into a pillow at four in the morning when he was alone because he could feel hands on him and they _wouldn’t go away._ )

It might have been inevitable, really, that Neaswe had had enough of seeing him appear at midday with dark circles under his eyes, but in Vellan’s defense he was slightly sleep deprived. Not much, granted, but just enough to very slightly impact his good judgement that was already fairly poor to begin with. 

“I can’t take it anymore,” Neaswe announced with pained stubbornness. “Vellan, you _have_ to do _something_.” 

“I can figure it out on my own,” Vellan insisted, knowing almost automatically what she meant, although Vellan was beginning to think that no, he truthfully couldn’t. 

Neaswe’s expression betrayed her own doubt as to how truthful this was, which was almost enough to make Vellan wince. 

“Look, I’m not saying that it’s a cure-all for trauma,” Neaswe said very seriously, gracious enough to ignore Vellan’s wince at the T-word. “But short of... of... oh, I don’t even know; therapy is really the only mental health profession I can think of that isn’t morally dubious by its very nature.” 

Vellan hated it when Neaswe had a point and he wasn’t on her side. 

“Look,” she entreated, “I’m not saying you have to love it, or even like it! All I’m asking is that you give it a shot, _please_.”

It was the please that did it, of course. Vellan hated to see Neaswe beg, and it was a fairly simple thing to do for her in truth. He deflated abruptly, and found it difficult to look Neaswe in the eye. 

“I... Okay. I will, if you-if it means so much to you... I’ll go.” 

“ _Thank you,_ ” Neaswe sighed with heavy relief, and Vellan already knew he was going to regret it. 

* * *

It took almost four weeks to step foot in their room, in the end, but that was neither here nor there. 

The therapist, when Vellan finally mustered the strength of will to actually go, looked understandably surprised to actually see Vellan enter the room. They immediately set down the book in their lap, placing their hands neatly on their desk, and straightened upright from the unprofessional slouch they’d previously been in. They didn’t quite smile at Vellan, but they didn’t look at all unhappy either. The best way Vellan could think to explain it was... Friendly professionalism, perhaps. 

They were also very short; they had thin arms that were visible through their sleeves, small hands, pale blue skin and with long, dark green hair. Dark blue pupils glinted with the gentle window’s sunlight that filtered in through white curtains. They were a _Niossi_ , a rare enough sight off of the far flung planet Nhio and out of the Vaen Empire. 

Vellan was filled with immediate regret and only the thought of Neaswe’s quiet disappointment kept him from turning on his heel and marching right back out. The urge was still there, of course, but... _Resist_ , he ordered desperately, trying to bribe himself, _resist! You can reward yourself with spicy steak for dinner if you stay!_

No, that wasn’t working. All it was doing was making him hungry, but at least propriety was demanding that Vellan stay or risk being seen as rude and mad. Eccentric at best. _By his therapist, at that._ That and the idea of committing such a cardinal sin of a social faux-pas kept Vellan rooted to the spot. 

“Mx. Fraudier,” Vellan croaked, voice breaking, and he gave a too short half-bow out of habit that had his therapist inclining their head back politely. 

“Lord Vellan,” they greeted with equal politeness, and Vellan tried not to preen at being addressed like that. He probably failed, just a little; he _liked_ that title, more than he probably should have. 

Mx. Fraudier smiled, at least, and eased very slightly back into their chair. 

“I must confess, I didn’t anticipate you visiting me today or I would have prepared something for you.” 

“ _Hrk_.” Vellan tried to choke a bit less obviously. “That-that’s fine. I did, er... rudely pop in without warning, after all. I’m... I’m terribly sorry.”

Mx. Fraudier hummed in acknowledgement before gesturing to the comfortable looking chair in front of their desk. 

“Please, Lord Vellan; sit if it would please you, I’m sure that you have... numerous duties to attend to.” 

They looked at Vellan from over their glasses, and Vellan had to fight the urge to squirm. It hadn’t quite been _duties_ that had had Vellan missing several appointments. More like the crushing weight of existentialism, and taking that offered seat felt a little like admitting to it. But Vellan just standing this whole time would be... kind of terrible, actually, so feeling like he was making some unholy pact, Vellan sat. 

It made his skin crawl, no matter how kindly Mx. Fraudier smiled at him. 

“So,” Mx Fraudier began, leaning forward slightly. “I know that Queen Neaswe arranged this consultation between us, and that you’ve done your best to avoid these meetings. May I ask why, so that I can prevent myself from doing whatever it was that made you so averse to attending?” 

There was nothing to even remotely hint at negative judgement, but still Vellan found himself cringing away slightly. 

“It-it wasn’t...” _Honesty_ , Vellan ordered himself weakly. _Honesty! This won’t even be worth it if you’re not honest!_

He took a deep breath and tried again. 

“It... wasn’t you, per se... I. I needed some time to... er. Acclimate.” 

Mx. Fraudier smiled very slightly, and Vellan only relaxed when he realized that that was all they were doing, without reaching for a notebook or pad to take notes in like was so stereotypically seems in televised viewings. 

“Do you find abrupt situations or changes in routine upsetting?” They asked curiously, voice easy and gentle, and Vellan thought back to Neaswe with her hand outstretched, like some fantastical warrior out of a tale- 

“... Not usually,” Vellan coughed. 

At least, Vellan didn’t think he did. He liked to think he handled Neaswe and Lord Afiran and everything about Beon with relative aplomb. There was a sense of _foreignness_ to it all, though, even months later when he should’ve been used to it, and sometimes it was all too startling and Vellan needed to escape to his rooms to have a quiet panic attack or twenty as he rode out the wave of intense isolation and culture shock, but... Vellan was coping. 

Sort of. 

(Vellan really, really hoped this was what coping was.)

Still, Mx. Fraudier didn’t immediately look disbelieving. Or maybe they just had an excellent poker face, Vellan couldn’t be sure. He swallowed anxiously, regardless, and wished he’d had that foresight to bring a water bottle. 

Mx. Fraudier finally leaned back into their chair, 

“Well, then... Since this is our first session, Lord Vellan, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself? It’s important that we build a rapport so that we can trust one another,” they explained, and Vellan admitted to himself he appreciated the logical explanation. Logic was well and comforting, completely unalike to... to the opposite of logic. Chaos? Something like that. 

Still. Telling someone about himself? Vellan almost started laughing nervously aloud. He didn’t know a single thing about himself. He was just... he was simply Vellan. Maybe not even Vellan. The name Vellan was like a sweater he’d had to grow into rather than one that came to him in the correct size. Even now Vellan heard his name and he sometimes thought _That’s wrong, that’s wrong-_

Granted, not so often after three or four years of living with the name, making it his in truth. But still, Vellan did very rarely find himself caught off guard by it. 

“I’m grateful you’re taking the time out of your busy schedule to see me,” Vellan deflected, and he plastered on a weak but polite smile. 

Mx. Fraudier’s own polite smile widened just a fraction, although Vellan couldn’t tell whether that was a good thing or not. Maybe they liked a challenge. Vellan very, very much hoped that they did; he had enough self awareness to know he wouldn’t be _easy_.

But none of that really mattered for the rest of the hour; Vellan was anxious and deflected the entire time, barely able to prevent himself from squirming constantly in his seat, and Mx. Fraudier looked far more settled by the end of their meeting. 

Vellan hated it, of course, but Neaswe had so sincerely hugged him with arms loose enough to easily escape once Vellan had shyly admitted he’d finally gone to the therapist she’d handpicked for him... It was far too much for Vellan’s heart. How could he resist something that made his girlfriend so happy even if it was mildly disconcerting? It was a simple task to do for her; simple and easy for everything but his nerves. 

Additionally was the fact that Vellan _knew_ he needed help; he reiterated this unwelcome knowledge to himself honestly if reluctantly because Vellan prided himself on his self awareness if nothing else. And Mx. Fraudier was a _professional_ ; Vellan did his own research into them when he learned just who would be metaphorically peeking into his brain. A Niossi born on the outskirts of the Vaen Empire, growing to live far from Nhio or Vaen with a merchant background in more recent years, Vellan recalled. His meager information gathering hadn’t quite managed to tell him how they had ended up on _Beon_ of all places, but perhaps that didn’t matter. 

So. Vellan, after four or so weeks of determinedly avoiding therapy, finally goes to therapy. 

(He hates it.)

Vellan informs Neaswe of his intent to continue seeing Mx. Fraudier, and she kisses him. It tastes like victory. 

(He still hates it.) 

  
And then it gets... Easier. 

(Vellan is pretty sure he hates therapy more than anything, however.)

* * *

Vellan, after the next couple of sessions — meaning days, really; Neaswe was perhaps a bit overzealous in scheduling these meetings, although they would quickly lessen to more reasonable appointments of bi-weekly meetings at Mx. Fraudier’s gentle coaching — can’t hold back one of the primary questions on his mind, and almost interrupts Mx. Fraudier right as they’re finishing saying something. 

“Why do you call me lord?” He asked, trying not to feel nervous. Vellan would probably throw himself out of the window if Mx. Fraudier _did_ get mad or irritated at him for interrupting. 

Mx. Fraudier didn’t look irritated, of course; they looked more bemused than anything else, clasping their hands together on the table between them. They wore black gloves today, made of a dark fabric that seemed to pull in the sunlight from the very big window beside them rather than reflect it. And Vellan was distracting himself by focusing on such a minor detail, but it was still interesting enough to take note of. 

They also didn’t reply for a long moment, almost long enough that Vellan was about to awkwardly take the question back when Mx. Fraudier’s soft voice sounded. 

“I... presumed that with Queen Neaswe being behind our acquaintance, that you were of her inner circle. Have I erred?” 

“Er.” 

There was no truly diplomatic way to say that while yes, Vellan _was_ in Neaswe’s so-called inner circle as it were, it was less as even the most minor of nobles and more of a former... ( _Don’t call yourself foul names_ , he reminded himself, _practice self care-_ ) ... slave of unfortunate circumstances and the current lover of Neaswe’s. So... That all just sounded crass to say out loud, and Vellan could _feel_ the blood rushing to his face and making it darker than usual from his own embarrassment on the subject. 

“Not really,” Vellan replied, voice cracking and making it taste like a lie. 

Mx. Fraudier looked fairly unimpressed, like they thought it was a lie too. 

“I’m not a liar,” He said more strongly, and this time Vellan could look them in the eyes because he _wasn’t_ a liar, he didn’t even like lies, they were awful and made his insides twist up-

But his therapist nodded, sitting back upright in their chair with calm professionalism writ into their face. 

“Of course, Lord Vellan; I didn’t think you were.” 

_That_ was probably a lie, Vellan couldn’t help but think suspiciously, but it was kindly meant so he tried to let the suspicion go. There was something about the thought of clinging to suspicions and paranoia that almost had Vellan cringing away, like a half-forgotten dream one has upon waking. 

Well. Entirely forgotten, in Vellan’s case, but still. Vellan spent the rest of that session alternating between sullen and subdued, no matter how hard he tried to remain engaged... Although he could have, just perhaps, tried a bit harder. 

* * *

In the end, it was like this; sometimes Vellan looked at Mx. Fraudier with their fancy doctorate and license to therapy those who wanted it, and he burned with emotion. 

Sometimes it was positive; Vellan could imagine himself whole and unhaunted far off into the distant future, and he could imagine holding Neaswe’s hands and leaning up to kiss her because they were in the shades of the garden and- 

And, well. Other, more private stuff. 

But other times Vellan burned with something approaching cold anger, although Vellan was rarely angry and so hesitated to label it as such. He would find himself gritting his teeth as he left Mx. Fraudier’s office, barely able to avoid slamming the door, and he would have a litany of _I hate this, I hate this_ , pressing against his thoughts over and over. 

It wasn’t Mx. Fraudier. It really wasn’t. They were cool and professional and even borderline kind; Vellan almost quite liked them, even if their insight into him made that impossible. But their carefully dispassionate voice dug into wounds that Vellan previously thought healed and closed up, and thinking on it made Vellan bitter and then angry for reasons he didn’t want to address. 

Truthfully, Vellan wanted to pretend those three years had never happened. 

He didn’t _want_ to acknowledge that he’d ever been a slave before Neaswe had found him. Those first few months had frequently alternated between easy and hard, as dazed and confused as his head had made him; he wasn’t used to physical labor with how easily he ran out of breath, and his hands were too soft and weren’t calloused, fumbling clumsily with anything less of embroidery or other small, delicate work. 

And then he became a bedslave within a few months for his face, and he didn’t _quite_ understand what that title meant until that first time, and the fear had taken his breath away because of course _that’s_ why there had been that ridiculously big bed in the room, and Vellan hadn’t left that room until Neaswe. He spent over two years in that stupid big room. 

Vellan, back then when he was most lonely and unable to imagine away any of his hurts with whimsical stories or imaginary worlds, thought he might’ve been going mad in there. Slowly losing his mind on that dreadful starship, unable to hear anything except his own voice because the rooms were soundproof and Vellan was too often left alone with only that big, empty window that looked out onto space, and it was _terrifying_. 

Fear was easy and uncomplicated; it was the kind of nervousness you got when meeting someone new, or when friends were goading you into doing something you all knew was pretty stupid. Terror was more; it numbed your mind to sense even when you knew better, and Vellan used to imagine that his window would break in his sleep and he would die, spaced then and there in a dazed blur with no clue as to what happened, and that it wouldn’t matter because the life would be snuffed from him like _that_. Not for any reason other than that his window had been so large and empty and he’d hated looking out if there hadn’t been anything to look at. 

And Vellan was meant to articulate all of that to Mx. Fraudier, somehow. As if it was really all so easy. And Mx. Fraudier with their own perfectly polished manners and lilting accent that sounded of soft sands and cool breezes would somehow know how to assist Vellan in _processing his trauma._ It was all so... it was just... 

It was frustrating, to say the least. It was all very, very frustrating. It was even somewhat frustrating that Neaswe wanted this so badly. 

But Vellan _loved_ Neaswe, and Neaswe so sincerely wanted the best for Vellan; it wasn’t like any of them imagined therapy to be some magical solution that would be like pressing a button and _voilà_. No, none of them imagined that at all. But it could be _frustrating_ , Vellan would find himself thinking as he furiously wiped away angry tears in the privacy of his room, that simply talking to Mx. Fraudier at all brought up all this emotion in him; that he would find himself angry and upset and _retreating-_

Vellan was tired of feeling like a coward, and Mx. Fraudier had a way of making him feel like a coward by simply sitting across from him. 

Of course, Vellan also knew that this was unfair. Mx. Fraudier was just doing their job, and it wasn’t like they came utterly prepared with a dossier on Vellan’s history. They were working almost as blindly as Vellan was, here, and he wasn’t so self-centered as to be unable to admit it. But sometimes Vellan just wanted to shroud himself in unfair bitterness and sulk for the rest of his days. 

But that was unworthy of Vellan, he knew instinctively. It was petty, and... and... Well, a plainly unlikable trait. 

But that was people; they were bone and flesh bound together with plenty to dislike about them. There was plenty _Vellan_ disliked about himself, as if his own thoughts didn’t make that clear enough. But he wanted to be better — _needed_ to be better — and so that left only trying as Vellan last recourse.

* * *

This did, in the end, mean that Vellan had to make a sincere effort with Mx. Fraudier. It was awful. Terrible. Utterly horrible. The _worst_ experience of his life. (Except not really.)

It required _emotional honesty,_ as if Vellan were anything but emotional and honest. 

... Well...

* * *

“So, Lord Vellan; please, will you allow me to broach a difficult topic with you today?” 

Vellan, slowly growing to be more and more comfortable in his skin with Mx. Fraudier, didn’t give a nervous smile as he might have even just a few short weeks ago. He tilted his head very slightly, and only the way he habitually rubbed his hands against the dark fabric of his pants gave away any anxiety. Vellan’s hair tickled his cheek where it fell into his face. 

“... Of course, Mx. Fraudier,” he said just a moment before his silence grew awkward, and Vellan firmly told himself to grit his teeth and bear whatever it was his therapist wanted to discuss. 

They smiled, pleased as could be although Vellan thought they might have immediately tried to smother that quicksilver flash of victory. But it _was_ a victory of a kind because at the very beginning of these meetings Vellan may have tried to deflect the subject into something different. And it would have worked, for a time, until Mx. Fraudier would bring it up again. 

Vellan wasn’t sure that was _kosher_ , exactly, but the arrangement worked well enough for them since Vellan wasn’t liable to speak of his past freely. 

Regardless, Mx. Fraudier was bringing their hands together neatly on their desk, a tight little clasping of tiny pale blue fingers, and their dark eyes were partially hidden by that tamed mane of green hair that cascaded down their head. They weren’t quite smiling, and Vellan knew then that this would likely be a painful and serious conversation, but Mx. Fraudier didn’t look quite so sternly professional and Vellan thought, perhaps, that maybe they were becoming more comfortable with him, too. It helped to consider that Vellan wasn’t alone in the osmosis pack-bonding that therapy was turning out to be. 

“We’ve discussed several things on your path to recovering your sense of personhood,” they said, which was a nice way to phrase _to become less fucked up_ , but Vellan so rarely swore even in the privacy of his own mind that he almost visibly startled at the direction his thoughts had taken and paid that much more attention to what Mx. Fraudier was saying. “-and in these conversations, I feel there are... several important things, that you may have not shared with me.” 

“I haven’t _lied_ ,” Vellan interrupted, now, an echo he repeated more than once, overtaken by a strong surge of emotion because he _hadn’t-_

But Mx. Fraudier raised a conciliatory hand, expression serious. 

“I am well aware, Lord Vellan. I have every faith that you have been honest with me to the letter, but honesty is not quite the same as revealing every key aspect, and you can be completely honest while still omitting details.” 

They lowered their hand and looked at Vellan very seriously. 

“Lord Vellan, I think it’s important to your recovery that we go over the last few years _without_ purposefully hiding things, even with as honest as you’ve been for me.” 

Vellan opened his mouth to argue out of sheer reflex, but he forcibly bit down his first response. Swallowed down his second, response, too, and then his third, and Vellan made himself actually sit and listen no matter how sick the words made his heart. 

He took a deep breath. 

“I don’t-I mean, I don’t know where to start.” 

Mx. Fraudier’s expression gentled so slightly that Vellan thought it may have been a micro expression. 

“How about the beginning? Your childhood, your adolescence...” 

Ah. Well. Honesty, Vellan reminded himself, and he began to speak. 

“I don’t... I don’t, actually, remember any of that. Or-or I don’t think so. I’m twenty now, I think, you see, so I-I... Well, I only really remember the past couple of years. I think I was seventeen, maybe, you see?” 

Mx. Fraudier’s expression shifted so slightly that Vellan doubted they were aware of it, appearing for all the world like several puzzle pieces were slipping into place in their mind. 

Vellan did wring his hands nervously, here, because he’d never... actually discussed any of this. Not out loud, not with anyone else. It was one thing to find his hands shaking and Neaswe looking concerned and to mumble that he’d gotten lost in memories and to drown himself in her support, but- 

“Would this be,” Mx. Fraudier asked with careful concern, “during when you were a slave?” 

How strange it must have been, Vellan thought wildly and only a little hysterically; a Niossi raised in Imperial Vaen territory having to tactfully discuss slavery when they probably grew up with it being as natural a thing as breathing. 

Vellan had to take another deep breath. Stars, just thinking about all this was leaving him a mess, never mind actually voicing it no matter how poorly 

“Yes. That’s- I think, at least, because I don’t _know_ , but I-I think that’s when it first started, you know, because it’s-I, I would almost have had to have been, I think-“ 

“Mindwiped?” Mx. Fraudier suggested, and Vellan bobbed his head up and down rapidly. 

“Yes! Yes. That’s, that’s the word for it, yeah. And I was- I was, you know, that’s is... at first I did stuff like _sew_ , and it was even sort of fun at first-“ 

“Queen Neaswe speaks highly of your skill in crafting,” Mx. Fraudier encouraged. Vellan nodded quickly, forcing down a thickness forming in his throat. 

“Neaswe is-she’s very kind,” he croaked hoarsely, and he desperately accepted the glass of water his therapist offered. 

Mx. Fraudier looked at Vellan for a long moment, but it wasn’t quite staring. It was like they were looking at all the parts that made up Vellan on the outside and decided to look deeper, as if that would tell them whether Vellan needed to not be pushed anymore. 

They nodded almost to themself. 

“... Lord Vellan, I know this is very hard for you to speak of. May I make some educated guesses and you tell me whether I’m right or wrong?” 

Vellan nodded, grateful for the out as he drank more deeply of his water. 

Mx. Fraudier seemed to take a bracing breath of their own, 

“I know you were a slave for a minimum of three years, and I now know you were mindwiped which I had only suspicions of prior to this conversation. I know that during this time you were... assaulted,” they phrased delicately, and Vellan couldn’t maintain eye contact any longer. His face burned horribly and he hated it, hated that he was grateful for the kindness with which Mx. Fraudier was wording his history.

 _I was a bedslave,_ Vellan thought with uncharacteristic sourness, although of course his therapist couldn’t know the exact details without being told. _Of course I was assaulted, it was my JOB to be assaulted._

But that wasn’t- that was again unworthy of Vellan, as so many of his thoughts tended to be during moments like this. 

“I know,” Mx. Fraudier continued carefully, “That you met Queen Neaswe sometime during that chapter of your life, and I know that led to your stay on Beon and becoming the queen’s... companion. Does this suffice as an accurate summary of your life?” 

_What a bleak summary it is,_ Vellan couldn’t help but think, although he quickly shook off the thought. 

“... Yes, that’s... that’s all accurate.” 

They both sort of paused, here, and Vellan wondered if his therapist had actually thought they’d get to say that summation or if they figured Vellan might have stormed out halfway through. 

“Thank you,” Mx. Fraudier said unexpectedly, and Vellan tried not to twitch in surprise. He might have failed by the aborted smile that almost graced their face. “I understand that speaking about this is very difficult for you, and I’m very proud of you for sticking it out with me.” 

“ _Oh_.”

For Mx. Fraudier to say that... it was one thing to hear that Neaswe was proud of him. She always meant it but she said it so often; it was a very different feeling to have someone who Vellan was sure was left without any obligations to profess pride to... Well, express pride in him at all. It made Vellan have to blink away a sudden mistiness from his eyes. 

“I... erm. Of course,” He said weakly, and Mx. Fraudier looked like they might be trying not to smile, now. The air was suddenly easier to breathe in, and the open window no longer looked so empty but more whimsically inviting, the city stretching out no longer bleak and cold but open and lovely, and the room suddenly seemed less sparse so much as comfortably clean. It was, Vellan suspected, thanks to a shift in his understanding of Mx. Fraudier, and a newer appreciation for them being there. Nothing had really changed except perhaps that Vellan was more... Open, maybe. Grateful. 

For the first time, Vellan actually began to sincerely suspect that these sessions of theirs might actually help him in ways he didn’t know how to help himself. This time, meeting Mx. Fraudier’s eyes made Vellan feel tentatively hopeful.

* * *

Time passed quicker, after this. 

Vellan and Neaswe settled more comfortably, with themselves and with one another. Vellan hadn’t realized some part of them had still been held stiffly apart until Neaswe made an utterly hilarious remark and Vellan unthinkingly reached up for her shoulder to keep standing, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Neaswe had frozen under his touch but quickly relaxed when all he did was laugh helplessly giggle, and then they were _both_ giggling. Vellan hadn’t realized he’d even touched Neaswe until later on, and he’d stared at his hand like it were a poisonous viper with a mind of his own. 

But really, it couldn’t possibly be at all bad that Vellan and Neaswe were falling into an even easier sort of companionship than before. Neaswe no longer seemed as careful with him as before, and Vellan found it refreshing; he hadn’t realized, previously, that Neaswe had been being so careful, but he wasn’t surprised by it either. It felt... more equal, in a way. Less imbalanced, as Vellan so often found himself feeling, and more of a _partnership_.

With the sort of casualness that Vellan could have only previously dreamed of, Neaswe and Vellan hovered around each other like she were a gentle flame and he the moth inevitably attracted to it. Less burning demises were involved, of course! But it was still utterly refreshing to look to the side and catch Neaswe’s eyes, trading subtle smiles or grins if Neaswe was fresh from a meeting of hers. 

(Coincidentally, these meetings also served as Vellan’s introduction to Beonite politics. But that was another matter entirely!)

Being more relaxed in their relationship also made things easier in other matters, too. Vellan found himself able to gently run his hands through Neaswe’s long brown hair, and she would do the same with his whenever silver bangs fell into his eyes. It was easier to gently press their lips together in chaste kisses, to softly hold hands and duck their heads together, to- 

To, ah... Well, to do other things, too. 

And in the end maybe that was their downfall; maybe they’d gotten too complacent or relaxed, because that was the only explanation Vellan could come up with even as he spluttered from sheer surprise. 

“ _Y-you’re what?”_

“Pregnant,” Neaswe repeated, raising an eyebrow. Vellan choked all over again at hearing the words said so plainly. 

“I, er. Well! That’s... hm,” he said incoherently, and Neaswe’s lips twitched at the corner’s like she was trying very hard not to smile. To not laugh at him, although Vellan would have almost certainly deserved it. 

“... Are you sure?” 

Neaswe lost the fight with her mouth and finally began to grin. 

“Yes, I’m sure. The doctor I saw this morning thinks I’ve been pregnant for a little over a month now.” 

Vellan flushed down to the roots of his hair at having a probable time stamp on Neaswe’s pregnancy and barely managed to push it down. 

“O-oh, I see... Well... How long will your p-pregnancy be..?” 

Neaswe shrugged, “Oh, about seven months total I imagine, unless your genetics are more dominant than mine.” 

How funny. Vellan’s first thought on the matter was that it couldn’t have been less than ten, but Neaswe would certainly know best as it was her body. 

“We’re going to have a baby in seven months?” He repeated thinly, and Neaswe grinned more widely. 

“Six, actually.”

“Six,” Vellan repeated reverently. He felt faint and very much hoped that he wasn’t actually about to pass out. It was a good thing Neaswe had had him seated first or he would probably be swaying on his feet. “ _Six_.”

Neaswe’s voice came in delighted laughter that she couldn’t possibly repress, and she leaned over to cup Vellan’s face. Her hands were comfortingly warm against his cool skin. 

“Yes, Vellan. Six months. Now, more seriously, can I assume you actually _want_ to be a father, or-“ 

“ _Yes_ ,” Vellan interrupted fervently, leaning up to kiss Neaswe on her patterned cheek. “Yes, of course I do!”

“Oh, good,” Neaswe said with some amount of relief. Not so much that Vellan thought she may have sincerely doubted him, but Vellan understood even through the deliriously happy fog covering his mind that it would probably be nice just to have confirmation.

* * *

In the end, they parted excitedly if reluctantly. Neaswe would go tell her dearest cousin, Oderan, first; this Vellan knew for sure, and he was half tempted to join her. He _liked_ Oderan. But Vellan wanted the experience of being able to tell someone on his own, and he thought Oderan would probably be more invested in the politics of it all rather than the idea of a tiny baby joining them after a mere seven months. 

So he went to the one person outside of the Masrii family who Vellan could think of; his therapist, sitting in their office like they always seemed to at this time of day. 

This was possibly because this was when their daily appointments were scheduled, but regardless!

Vellan didn’t burst into the room because he had more self control than that, but it was a near enough thing; he was practically vibrating out of his own skin with how powerful his enthusiasm was at this news, and he simply had to tell _someone_ first. 

His therapist was, of course, sitting primly at their desk, and something that could pass for a smile crossed their face. 

“Do you have anything to share?” Mx. Fraudier asked, and they clearly felt indulgent enough to put Vellan out of his mystery and ask outright rather than gently leading up to it. Vellan was grateful because he felt as though he was one moment away from simply drifting out of the window with how high in the clouds his head was. Vellan felt like he was going to _die_ from sheer nerves, but only in the very best way. 

“Neaswe is pregnant,” he blurted, and Vellan had the distinctly rare pleasure of seeing his therapist’s mouth drop open with shock.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, I’ve actually had this ready for a couple of days now but I just kept putting it off when it came to posting this!! Ah well, please enjoy another day In Vellan’s No Good Only Sometimes Okay Terrible Life!

Vellan had a front row seat to the illustrious reality of Beonite politics within the first couple of months along in Neaswe’s pregnancy. 

It wasn’t necessarily a _good_ seat, of course, but it was still _a_ seat. It was... Well, alright; _objectively_ it was a good seat. Vellan had a prime view in how the higher court of Beon interacted, able to really see how everyone got down to business in between the almost habitual bickering and snide remarks. It was a chance to be visible by Neaswe’s side, to really showcase himself as an extension of Neaswe in Beonite politics alongside Lord Afiran Brésuyl, Neaswe’s most trusted cousin who presently sat just to Vellan’s left. 

But it was also a headache and a half, least of all because of who he was with.

Neaswe appeared to be in her element with her long dark hair flowing freely past her shoulder blades without being pulled back into a casual ponytail, wearing a simple light beige-almost-white dress that was almost too warm for such a sunny Joon day. 

Lord Afiran was dressed formally, too; even a little more formally than the situation actually called for with his dark dress shirt and much lighter dress pants. His somewhat shaggy pale-gold hair was swept winningly to the side, charm out in full force and eyes so very identical to Neaswe’s almost half-closed with the consistent smile kept on his face. Vellan half suspected Lord Afiran didn’t know how to _not_ smile, although such a thing was a relief considering Vellan otherwise felt very, very alone in this room full of so many intimidating folks. Lord Afiran’s consistent friendliness was a balm Vellan didn’t know he would need until they were here, and he was more gladdened than ever that Lord Afiran had insisted he come. 

As for the actual governing of Beon... 

Beon had it’s own share of political parties, of course; most free governments did, regardless of whether it was a monarchy, democracy, dictatorship, or some other less common form of ruling. There was the fairly small but strong Coalescence, those who were incessantly determined that Beon should combine with the might of the ever-present Vaen Empire and give up it’s place as one of the few remaining individual kingdoms or empires outside of Imperial Vaen space. There was the Dorsey Party, a group founded upon isolationism and the gradual slowing of foreign trade and communication; the capitalistic futurists that made up the Lhasa, the heavy handed Conservative Partisan Party... There were many more, of course, but those were the groups who Vellan could recall at the top of his head. 

All of those parties and the many other, smaller and more divided parties were constantly warring and braying at one another, sounding like the pitiful bleating of an argument amongst goats. 

Just the comparison even to himself in the privacy of his thoughts was enough to help Vellan smooth out his face entirely, keeping his expression calm and placid. It felt comfortable and familiar, and Vellan held onto the sensation; it would probably help in other situations, too. 

Of course, it was a bit of a necessity for Vellan to keep his face calm even as cold sweat made his palms slick and clammy. 

But that wasn’t all there was to the political arena of Beon; members of the court typically represented the interests of any party they so chose to align themselves with, gaining allies and enemies as easily as a breeze, and yet being of the court itself didn’t equate one to actually getting any work done in regards to governing beyond choosing where to send the money; you had to personally be a member of the families that carried the name of Masrii, Brésuyl, Wynfrul or Vastíon — much like Neaswe was named Neaswe Masrii or her cousin was Afiran Brésuyl. There was a fifth family, once; the Sórean, but they were killed at least two thousand years previous and so the Brésuyl took over. 

Well. They took over until just a century and a half previous, when Lord Afiran’s own grandfather was killed in a notoriously violent coup. That was why you just _didn’t_ base your entire ruling and reputation off of fear. 

_What an amateur_ , Vellan couldn’t help but reflect as he watched the subtle chaos down below, cousins jostling one another for this seat or that one with sharp elbows or sharper words. Afiran was very smart and well read, so it surely couldn’t have come from his grandfather. Vellan had the chance to trade a faint smile with the older man as they both surveyed the ongoings. 

It was only when it was entirely quiet in the center of the room that Vellan leaned back in his seat, and glancing around discreetly he saw more than one of his fellows doing the same. The center of the room was set up with a round table with ornately decorated legs twisting their way to the marble floor like vines. It was all on a level slightly lower than theirs with stairs and a gate off to the side, and there was a low wall to prevent anyone from tipping over into the meeting while still being able to see the ongoings easily. 

There were, as it happened, eight of them total gathered around the table; playmates and cousins who Neaswe had grown up with, each the most important of Neaswe’s large... _large_... extended family, and the people stuck with Vellan on his level were their own business partners or significant others or life friends of choice. It was they who were most decisive in the governing of Beon, they who made up the Assembly itself, and it was plainly obvious to anyone with even a bit of sense in their heads why they might be gathered today when everyone really had far better things to do with their time; the succession of Beon. 

The table was round and so it had no literal head to speak of, but even then it was easy to see that Neaswe herself was the current head when the back of her chair had a blue sigil inscribed into the smooth wood; the royal seal of Beon itself in the color of Beonite royalty. She spoke only when the low chatter of the room finally died down. 

“I’m glad everyone could make it today,” Neaswe said with a smile that rang distinctly false. Vellan could only approve, even as his mind flickered briefly to the conversation they’d had before entering this room. It had been full of reassurances and unsubtle pleading in equal measure, as though Neaswe was worried that whatever face she wore for politics would scare him off. 

It was a silly thought; politicking was all the same, whether it was smiling at your master or smiling at your girlfriend’s political rivals. 

Vellan took the time to observe the seven other members of the Assembly as they all gave their own patently false or stiffly polite greetings in return. 

Five of the eight several members gathered had the gold skin and dark ears that Neaswe herself possessed (which was to be expected of the native race of Beon), although no one shared her dark brown hair. Two resembled Lord Afiran with his gray skin, long ears and his pale-gold hair, and those eyes that were as bright a pink as Neaswe’s were lingering on them stoically when Vellan glanced over at him. 

“They’re more my cousins than Neaswe’s,” Lord Afiran explained very quietly when he caught Vellan looking to him with curiosity that must not have been half as hidden as he had hoped. Vellan nodded very slightly, shifting so that he could speak quietly without being overtly obvious about it. 

“They do look like you,” he murmured in return, and it was true; with the exception of only one person on the council who resembled neither Neaswe or Lord Adiran — a woman who was clearly of primarily Folshana descent with her fins, although Vellan could only tell she was a woman because he could smell it when he turned his focus on her. That, and a Folshan always carried a discreet scent of salt with them —, it could be said that they all very much resembled one another with pink eyes and gold or gray skin. 

Neaswe was speaking again, but her tone was so conversational that it took Vellan a moment to realize it. 

“-to announce that I am pregnant with the next heir to the throne of Beon,” she was saying, face calm and collected and outlined in pride. Vellan kept his own expression serene and placid when everyone looked to him, as if Neaswe had any other lovers hidden away just out of sight. Most seemed idly curious, a fair number nodded to themselves at suspicions proven right, but a couple of their number still seemed irate at the news. Vellan made eye contact with one such woman down on the same level as Neaswe, who resembled Lord Afiran so much they could have been twins, and gave her a thin lipped smile. 

Her eye twitched. Challenge accepted, Vellan supposed. She would not accept this quietly; this Vellan knew with an almost idle instinct that was near instantly proven right when the woman stood up. 

“I think I speak for us all,” she began formally, but not even the woman’s stiff politeness could hide her disdain. Vellan glanced between her and Lord Afiran, cataloguing their similarities. “When I say that your presumption at carrying _the next heir to the throne of the entirety of Beon_ is unappreciated.” 

Neaswe began to smile, slow and languid and relaxed, and Vellan couldn’t help but think to himself, _Oh; Neaswe hates her._

“Lady _Sayla_ ,” Neaswe said with an admittedly inappropriate purr to her voice, and she leaned forward against the table in a way that just so happened to highlight the slight swelling of her stomach. “Are you, a _Brésuyl_ , attempting to undermine my authority and right by bringing into question the power vested in me by this very council when _your_ family lost the privilege of primary governance?”

A man clearly of the same race as Neaswe — a Morilan, and someone who resembled Neaswe so closely that they must have shared recent blood — with auburn hair and large round glasses had a sudden choking fit into his fist. Vellan couldn’t blame him; with one question Neaswe had made it seem as though the Lady Sayla Brésuyl’s apparent concern would be nothing more than a power grab. 

By the lady’s darkening face, she knew it too. 

Still, Vellan had to admire her tenacity if nothing else, even if with every shift in her expression she betrayed herself as an enemy of Neaswe’s. It wouldn’t do not to give credit where credit was due, however, and determination _was_ fairly admirable. More-so in situations that weren’t this, granted, but still.

“I don’t believe my family’s standing is relevant,” said Lady Sayla, but she was clearly losing the six others who’s votes she needed. 

“Oh, let’s just leave it be,” said the Folshan, her black facial fins flaring with irritation. “It’ll go to one of us anyways after _weeks_ of indecisive voting if we take queenship away _now_ , and at least Lady Neaswe has earned the title. I say let her line carry on until such a time as a tyrant pops up.” 

That got a nod of agreement from the man with the round glasses, 

“ _Exactly_. In any case, any one of us are well enough so long as our name isn’t _Brésuyl._ ”

There was scattered laughter and snickering muffled behind discreetly places hands, with mean little glances aimed at Lord Afiran who took it all calmly, at Lady Sayla who’s chin aimed upwards with proud defiance, and even the quiet man who resembled them both but so far had said nothing. 

“You can’t seriously be considering allowing Lady Neaswe’s child with _that_ to be the next heir,” Lady Sayla insisted determinedly, and it was this which brought the quiet but mocking laughter to a halt. Vellan subtly straightened up as eyes fell upon him once more, and he gave his best smile of bland attention. 

_Ignore me, ignore me, I’m no one important right now, pay attention only to Neaswe,_ he urged silently, but it didn’t seem to work. If anything people stared at him harder, it almost felt like, but then maybe Vellan was imagining it. It didn’t _feel_ like he was, but Vellan could try only to not make eye contact with any one person as he smiled stupidly at the room as a whole. 

A new voice spoke from the lower level, sounding hesitant and thoughtful. 

“Yes... That _is_ a concern. Unless you’re here to claim that this isn’t your beau’s child, Neaswe..?” 

Vellan heart constricted at the very thought, but of course Neaswe shook her head instantly. 

“Of course I won’t claim that; I do remain, as it so happens, quite fond of him.” 

Ah. Vellan may have swooned just a bit, now, at her words, so Vellan desperately hoped that no one was looking at him right now. Judging by Lord Afiran’s discreet _look_ from beside him, he may not have much hope of that. 

_But Vellan couldn’t help it; saying that in front of this assembly, that was practically a declaration of love!_ Who wouldn’t swoon when their lady love said something like that to people who could very easily and very legally dethrone her?

There were half-smirks and half-frowns around the table at the fairly bold statement, and Vellan looked closely at those who frowned whom he also recognized. Lady Sayla, of course... The Lady Eschea was seated nearby, Lord Ormanil who Vellan recognized from around the palace looking especially stern-faced...

Neaswe smiled, an expression that was unexpectedly blinding in the professional setting. 

“I should think everyone would be relieved that my fertility is proven,” She said casually, although no one was fooled. “The line of succession is practically guaranteed, and I’m sure we _all_ are relieved to know that the royal lineage will remain in Masrii hands.” 

Vellan shyly looked left, except Lord Afiran’s face could have been carved from stone. But his hands betrayed his tension by gripping the armrests very tightly judging by how pale and bloodless his knuckles had gone, and he was staring straight ahead rather than down below at the meeting. Vellan almost went to bite his lip anxiously before remembering himself and could offer nothing more than an encouraging look to Lord Afiran with all these important eyes around them. 

Down below, something like an argument was beginning to brew when Vellan tuned back in. 

“-not saying it isn’t important to know that you _are_ capable of having children, Neaswe, but the fact of the matter is that you are- er-“ 

“Sullying the ancient and noble lineage of Masrii with lovers of unknown pedigrees?” Suggested Lord Ormanil sweetly, and there was an awkward pause. Neaswe slowly turned to face him, expression as genial as ever — more-so, even, but Vellan had the sudden impression that Neaswe was half a heartbeat away from taking a swing at Lord Ormanil’s face. Lady Sayla seemed to think the same by the way she subtly leaned in the opposite direction of Lord Ormanil just beside her. 

“Why, my lord... I thought we agreed to leave party politics _out of the assembly.”_

Across the way, Vellan spotted a woman discreetly palming her face. She must have been a member of Lord Ormanil’s party, poor woman. 

But seeing her reminded Vellan of just _where_ he’d seen Lord Ormanil from around Neaswe’s palace; he was a staunch supporter of the puritist Conservative Partisan Party, a... Well. It felt _very_ old fashioned to say it, like it was something right out of a history book that hadn’t been printed in at least two thousand years, but the Conservative Partisan Party were a group of of isolationists who also extolled the mostly extinct anti-virtues of racism. 

Vellan supposed this was what it felt like to be suffering a microaggression from a man who’s perspective of the known universe was smaller than his pinkie toe. 

“Oh, Neaswe... This has nothing to do with politics at all, only the welfare of our world-“ 

“How poignant of you to mention the world when mine is ever-expanding, Ormanil-“

Ah. There was the unsubtle bickering come out to play. Vellan sighed and leaned back into his chair, fending off a budding headache as he thought. It wasn’t even out of place for him to finally relax because it seemed everyone else not down in the actual Assembly was relaxing or shaking their heads with annoyance. 

But still, Vellan thought and he _thought_. The one thing that no one here could use as an argument was his and Neaswe’s child being born out of wedlock... One of the few areas Beonite society had over Vaenian, alongside the obvious concept of slavery being abhorrent. Beon as a whole didn’t really _get_ the concept of bastards, which could only work to Vellan’s advantage here. And no one could say otherwise without looking as though they were betraying Beonite values for... for something Vaenian, perhaps, or maybe even Sorilish-

Although Vellan was also making enemies both weak and strong today, which was regrettable. Lady Sayla would be unable to do anything overt for several years at the very least, but Lord Ormanil...

His lips thinned, pressing together tightly even as Vellan stared ahead without really seeing much of anything at al. 

Lord Afiran gently nudged Vellan’s arm and he glanced over. 

“Neaswe will probably win the vote now,” Lord Afiran murmured, although he didn’t look near as happy as Vellan might have normally expected. Recalling Neaswe’s somewhat unsubtle dig at Lord Afiran’s family, however, made Vellan inwardly wince; Lord Afiran was probably entitled to not being as pleased as he should be at a victory after that, no matter that it was necessary. 

Still- 

“That’s a relief,” Vellan exhaled shakily out of the corner of his mouth, still smiling insipidly at the room. 

Lord Afiran snorted, something wry and bitter crossing his expression. Vellan wondered if the older man wanted to be down there with Neaswe, where he could’ve been in that very seat if his grandfather had never been overthrown. A coin toss, and maybe Neaswe would’ve been seated where Lord Afiran now sat with their positions reversed. 

But Lord Afiran was still tightly gripping the armrests so Vellan floundered for something to say. 

“Do you- I mean, well, do you... know any of them? Since they’re your, um... your cousins... t-too..?” 

Something in Lord Afiran’s eyes made Vellan falter; hunching down in his chair before he could help it, anxiously making himself smaller. But then the moment passed and Lord Afiran was smiling again, expression bright and open like always, so Vellan tentatively relaxed as he explained, 

“Oh, I actually know all of them; we all grew up together here in the palace, did you know? There was an assembly pretty much like this when I was... Twenty, maybe? Twenty-one..? Around there,” Lord Afiran waved off, “Neaswe would’ve been around fifteen or sixteen herself.” 

Vellan tried to imagine a young girl with Neaswe’s face and features, but then all he could imagine was their unborn child and going down that path lay certain embarrassment. 

“O-oh... why-?” 

“To elect the next ruler,” Lord Adiran said like it was obvious. Vellan supposed that that was fair; Neaswe was... she was around twenty-seven, wasn’t she? Older than Vellan’s presumed twenty-one, and as far as he knew no one ever mentioned either of Neaswe’s parents being the previous King or Queen or Ruler of Beon. 

Doubtlessly Neaswe had proven herself at least a dozen times over... So all that was left was to elect any offspring Neaswe might have as the official royal blood of Beon.

 _Everything_ , Vellan couldn’t resist thinking archly, _would be so much easier if they simply did away with this... this_ _Assembly and whatnot._

But that was possibly a near treasonous thing to think, so Vellan quickly turned his attention back to Lord Afiran. 

“Oh, I see... Then, can you tell me about-“ 

There was a startled shriek from down below where the quieter discussions and arguments should have been taking place, and Vellan almost jumped out of his feet from sheer fright. There was some flailing and wailing along the lines of _How dare you say that to me,_ and _Apologize this instant!_ and _How could you throw a glass of water at me?!_

Lord Afiran raised a hand to discreetly snort, and Vellan looked over to him with wide eyes only to see an expertly hidden grin. 

“Oh, I see that Lady Lotyna finally lost her patience.” 

“Which one is she?” He asked thinly, and Lord Afiran pointed to the Folshan. 

“That’s her, Lady Lotyna Vastíon. And it looks like she’s thrown her drink at Lord Ilmaner.” 

That was the man who had looked so similar to Lord Afiran, who’d leapt to his feet in outrage and no longer looked so sullen and quiet but quite agitated. He almost hit Lord Ormanil with a wildly thrown fist in an overly dramatic gesture, and the lord took about as kindly to that as he seemed to do anything... Which was, as it so conveniently happened to be, not at all. He too furiously joined the fray.

Neaswe was slowly putting her face in her hands, sitting at her own seat again. Vellan turned to Lord Afiran. 

“Does this mean Neaswe won?” 

He shrugged. 

“Probably. Neaswe’s enemies aren’t coherent enough to resist when it comes to the official signing, now.” 

“ _Oh_ ,” said Vellan, and he looked on the chaos with new eyes. 

Chaos, Vellan was finding, could be an opportunity if one had the means to grasp it. By the way Neaswe was now very quickly shoving some papers forward for the person nearest to her to sign in all apparent amusement, she was one such person. 

Lord Afiran was sighing under his breath at the sight, and Vellan couldn’t quite push down the happy grin making his mouth twitch at the corners. 

“I’m so glad this is ending up in our favor,” Vellan breathed out shakily. “My heart was pounding so hard I thought I was going to _die_.” 

Lord Afiran’s own mouth quirked up at the edges. 

“Are you prone to melodrama in your sheer relief?” 

“Of course not,” he lied. 

Paused. 

“... Well, maybe just a little,” Vellan confessed more honestly. 

Lord Afiran’s grin became slightly relaxed, reaching up with calloused hands to teasingly tug on silver bangs that were falling into Vellan’s eyes. His hand lingered and Vellan grinned up at Lord Afiran, too excited to turn away like he might normally. 

“I think I thought Neaswe might lose and so I’m feeling a bit manic!” He blurted gleefully, reaching up to lower Lord Afiran’s hand himself. Lord Afiran grinned and held his wrist instead, but the contact was grounding so Vellan didn’t pull away. 

“I figured you’d have cried from relief,” The older man teased, and Vellan winced. No need to confess that he _was_ near tears just seeing Neaswe currently coax the fourth and last vote necessary by getting that signature jotted down. _Neaswe was going to remain queen-_

“I wouldn’t cry _that_ easily,” he lied again with a sheepish mumble, but then Vellan was distracted and fumbled his hands free to wave at Neaswe looking up at them, a delighted grin sliding into place no matter who may have been watching

Lord Afiran released him like he’d been burned.

* * *

When Neaswe finally made it to them, Vellan had to discreetly wipe at his eyes while Lord Afiran smirked at him. 

“You were amazing!” Vellan blurted out, and would wonders never cease but Neaswe actually blushed. 

“Were you watching the whole time?” She asked, incredibly flattered, and Vellan nodded even if he had gotten distracted at certain points in there. 

“Yes! And you were- you were- _Neaswe_ , you were just so-“ 

“Elegantly poised,” Lord Afiran suggested helpfully, and Vellan nodded like a bobblehead. 

“Exactly,” he agreed with open admiration. Neaswe grinned and linked their arms together, Lord Afiran following along just behind them. 

“Oh, well, if _you two_ say it, then I have no choice but to believe you!” 

“If you react like this after _every_ assembly I attend, I’ll have to bring you to more of them from now on,” Neaswe said coyly. Vellan didn’t know what his face looked like just then, but it was enough for both Lord Afiran and Neaswe to devolve into muffled snorts.

* * *

Afterwards, when all was said and done and Neaswe had squirreled the three of them away deep in her palace, Vellan could finally heave the deep, deep sigh of relief that he’d been holding in this whole time. 

He threw himself onto the sofa only a little dramatically, relishing in being able to go boneless with a sudden lack of stress. Was this what it felt like to be some average civilian, minus the whole keeping Neaswe’s queenship intact? Vellan was tempted to retire then and there in return for only peaceful days ahead. 

The cushions shifted as either Neaswe or Lord Afiran joined him on the sofa, and Vellan didn’t budge for a long moment to check which one it was until he felt a hand in his hair, playfully tugging at the flyaway strands. 

Vellan sat up to grin at Lord Afiran, still laying against the sofa. 

“Is it crass to celebrate Neaswe remaining queen, do you think?” 

He snorted. 

“Only if we’re caught, I’d say. Is that what you want, then? A celebration? I thought you’d have enough of celebrating after last time,” Lord Afiran leered. Vellan stared at him blankly before the memory hit him like a brick to the face. _Last month at Lord Afiran’s birthday... with all that drinking and head-pounding music and that awful, awful headache in the morning after-_

Vellan blanched, paling. 

“Stars, don’t remind me,” he blurted out before he could help it, head aching at the mere memory of the hangover he had after Lord Afiran’s birthday. _Oh, absolutely not; never, EVER again!_

Lord Afiran smirked, because he was just kind of like that, and Neaswe smirked from across the room where she was hauling a chair over because she was clearly remembering Vellan’s well-earned suffering. 

Neaswe patted Vellan on the knee when she got close enough, setting the chair at just enough of a distance that she could swing her feet up on the low coffee table. 

“I’m glad that’s all over now,” Neaswe sighed, absently kicking her shoes off and letting them remain hazardously on the table. Lord Afiran leaned over and swatted them to the floor where shoes rightfully belonged. 

Vellan nodded absently, 

“I am too... Because-because it _is_ over now, right? There’s no need for anymore meetings or papers signed or..?” 

“Not at all,” answered Lord Afiran quite casually, shifting until it was his feet that were sprawled across Vellan’s lap. “There shouldn’t be anything like that, right Neaswe? Maybe just more frequent assemblies, but otherwise...” 

“Otherwise the hard part is done,” She agreed serenely. 

Vellan looked up from where he was making a face at Lord Afiran’s shoes resting in his lap, tugging them off so that he wouldn’t get... whatever Lord Afiran may have stepped in on himself. 

“So then Neaswe is royalty in every way now, right? Does that make you royalty too, Lord Afiran, since you’re related?” 

Lord Adiran’s easygoing grin faltered, and even Neaswe looked somewhat uncomfortable at the question. 

“Not... quite,” Lord Afiran answered delicately. His face looked somewhat stiff at the edges, but mostly he just looked uncomfortable. “It’s much the same if Neaswe were to have a child who married outside of the family rather than having someone marry _into_ the family. I’m not Neaswe’s direct sibling or child, so I’m still simple nobility to Neaswe’s royalty.” 

“Oh,” Vellan mumbled, taking that in. That made sense, he supposed. More sense than that assembly _non_ sense, at any rate. Less sense than not having a- well. Not an _emperor_ , or an _empress_ , or even supreme ruler with the final say of anything that went on, per-say, but a... Well, alright, that final one was pretty much the most sound solution that Vellan could think of. Dreadfully _Vaenian_ thinking by all accounts, but Vellan didn’t know what the point of a ruler was if they didn’t, you know, _rule_.

Not that Vellan would say anything like that, of course. Neaswe and Lord Afiran were both so... _Beonite_ in their perspectives. But then they were still nobility no matter how much Vellan adored and liked them respectively, and Vellan was... He tilted his head, considering, and only a little absently swatted at Afiran’s hand in his hair. Vellan was a, a... A socialite, Vellan decided. That was a much more palatable term than confessing that he was incidentally mooching off of Neaswe’s goodwill. 

Regardless of Vellan’s employment status or lack thereof, Vellan turned to Neaswe and offered a shy grin, 

“Well... You’re officially the queen to stay now! What do you plan to do?” 

She smiled back at Vellan, and it was only a little indulgent at the question. 

“I think I’ll continue to do what I have been, although there are plenty of ceremonies and such to prepare,” Neaswe said with a pointed glance down. It took Vellan a moment to realize she meant what with her pregnancy. 

“You have to- oh! Oh, I forgot all about that,” Vellan said guiltily. “You must have a lot of preparation to do, still... sending word out to nobles and-and the religious institute-“ 

“You could just call it a church,” Neaswe suggested, and Vellan nodded and smiled and had no intention of doing that ever. 

“-the _religious institute_ ,” Vellan continued on blithely, ignoring both Neaswe’s and Lord Afiran’s chuckles. “And you have to make official announcements on the news, right? To all of Beon and your allies... And— and I saw this just the other day on television, but there’s something about a baptism-“ 

“Er, let’s not talk about all of that just yet,” Neaswe hastily attempted to reassure him. “I think we can only have so much excitement in a day!”

 _I’m going to die if I don’t figure it all out right this instant,_ thought Vellan, but a moment later and he slouched back against the couch in defeat. 

“R... right... Right! Celebrations first and then work,” He agreed more decisively. Neaswe looked as though she wished to never again work a day in her life. 

But still, relaxing and being able to spend time with them after such a successful meeting still so early in the day left Vellan halfway to feeling as though he were walking on clouds. Lord Afiran was grinning half-hidden into one of his hands, legs lightly crossed, and his eyes crinkled into a smile whenever their eyes caught. 

But their eyes rarely met because Vellan was much more engaged by Neaswe. She looked absolutely stellar, glowing with self-satisfaction and pride. And why shouldn’t she, a self-fashioned queen become reality? Vellan was proud _for_ her, and he had just sort of been there. Of course, it was possible that he was biased in his perspective; but Vellan thought, glancing at the curve of Neaswe’s stomach that seemed to grow by the week, that he could be forgiven for any bias. 

Smiling, Vellan threw himself back into the conversation eagerly. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Neaswe throws a party, please and thank you never again

So far as Vellan figured, once he got into the swing of things — Neaswe’s pregnancy, his own tenuous status in court, burgeoning friendships and other relationships blooming — life went something like this in that final month and then weeks and then days before their child was born. 

Neaswe lingered in Vellan’s vision whenever she was around. He was unable to take his eyes off her more than ever before; being with her in a romantic sense felt like a veil was lifted from his eyes, leaving Vellan able to see just how _bright_ Neaswe shone in any situation. Her eyes sparkling when she laughed, long brown hair tumbling down her back, and she was always, always smiling. 

She smiled a lot, Neaswe did. She smiled when she met Vellan’s eyes, when they spoke, when Neaswe had gotten in a clever word or remark that went just over someone’s head-

And of course, it was difficult to think on Neaswe without Vellan’s thoughts turning even a bit absently to Lord Afiran, who always lingered near Neaswe like a particularly efficient steward. Or simply Afiran, rather, because permission had been granted to call the older man that once it became truly apparent that Vellan was around to stay; but it was almost too embarrassing to call a man like Afiran by his first name. He was so smart and put together it was even a little humiliating to simply assume any sense of familiarity with him!

Vellan did try, of course; it was rather a simple thing that made both Neaswe and Afiran happy, and Vellan was... Well, fond seemed too plain a word for the depth of his emotion, but Vellan _was_ fond of them both. 

It must be said, obviously, that just being with Neaswe didn’t mean that the rest of the universe paused to allow them to catch their breaths. There were still plenty of functions or engagements that needed Neaswe’s personal attention, from meeting with Folshan dignitaries over an official alliance between Beon and Daruhua to the inevitable celebration when Neaswe succeeded. 

It was enough to make Vellan’s heart race, and he had the wild thought to join Neaswe at the table where everything happened and look over those selfsame documents that required all of Neaswe’s attention. _Trading and military might and universal borders and potential allies gained or lost through this alliance,_ just thinking about the complicated maneuvering was all it took to send Vellan into near-rapture. He knew he could contribute something to the discussions, _anything_ , but then reality would catch up and Vellan would recall he was no one of any importance. 

Being with Neaswe who valued his input and his voice so much was a pyrrhic thing that allowed Vellan to forget himself and his place. 

But Vellan could focus his efforts on things that he was able to take charge of without being in the forefront, his own contribution a hidden thing that allowed Vellan to take pride in his efforts without it being obvious who was to thank. 

(With Neaswe’s permission, of course - there was initiative and then there was dangerous ambition; it was all a delicate balance to reach when your lover was also a queen. There was probably something to be said about a power imbalance, there.) 

There were also more simple matters like making sure Neaswe went to bed at reasonable hours, always able to elicit a grin and a laugh doing so. And then there were matters like discreetly setting up the festivities to honor that previously mentioned alliance because it truly was a sure thing in every way except on paper at this point, only the I’s needing to be dotted and the T’s crossed. 

He did, Vellan decide, truly enjoy a good alliance. Besides, Beon and Daruhua had a long-standing history with one another. Granted that not all of it had been pleasant, and there may have been a short war about two hundred years previous, but entwined histories made for tangled futures. 

Other than all of that, Neaswe looked as though she could use a good party. Vellan wanted to throw her a good party. 

It was that simple, embarrassingly enough, although Vellan would rather shoot himself in the foot than admit it. 

Of course, Vellan had tried to talk Neaswe into delaying the event; _Lord Afiran_ had tried to talk Neaswe into delaying... Vellan had even attempted to have Mx. Fraudier speak to Neaswe as a neutral third party, to explain that it was so much excitement so late into her pregnancy, and while pregnancy didn’t automatically turn someone into a delicate flower, Vellan still _worried-_

But Neaswe was determined to see it all done as soon as possible, and it was at least a comfort that Neaswe wasn’t due for another three two weeks. 

Regardless, that was how things stood; Neaswe was bustling about with dignitaries and officials from Daruhua, the primarily water-filled world that served as the Homeworld of the aquatic Folshana race. Lord — that is, _Afiran_ was also bustling about, appearing the ideal perfect picture of a socialite in his element. It was almost enough to make Vellan’s head spin, if he were even an ounce less enamored by festivities as it were. 

(Vellan was busy too, but it wasn’t near as glamorous work as working with diplomats and they were _so lucky-_ )

And then the day arrived that those i’s and t’s _were_ dotted and lined respectively, and the entire palace seemed to tentatively give a sigh of relief... For about an hour, before returning to hectic normality. It was almost exasperating, but the thought of the tension that came with wondering what _if_ the alliance fell through..! No, no it was best just to get it all said and over with. 

Although that _did_ , admittedly, leave Vellan with his current problem; Neaswe had invited him to the celebration gala, but Vellan _didn’t know what to wear._

It was probably a pretty silly issue to focus on; Vellan was easily able to admit that much if only to himself. But oh, oh it certainly felt like an _important_ decision to make. He wanted to impress Neaswe, to dazzle her as much as she dazzled him on the regular, and that meant looking _nice_.

Vellan wanted to look good enough for royalty, but that was a pretty arrogant thing to think even in the privacy of his own thoughts. 

(But then, _he_ was kind of arrogant in his thoughts. Maybe it evened out.)

So that was why he needed someone with regular experience in Beon’s court life... Someone who could be trusted not to laugh at Vellan or spread rumors to either his or Neaswe’s detriment because reputation was _important_ , and- _and-_

And. Well. 

Vellan’s social circle consisted of precisely two people without including himself or Mx. Fraudier. It was fairly obvious that he didn’t precisely have a lot of options, here, but to be fair Vellan still would have turned to Afiran as his first, last and only option even if he might have had a plethora of companions to choose from. 

Thankfully his first, last and ultimately only option indeed accepted Vellan’s shy approach into his personal apartments with minimal fuss, only raising an eyebrow with surprise at the sight of Vellan staring at the older man with obvious hope. 

“Vellan,” Afiran greeted with a pleasantly surprised purr in his voice, gray skin almost flushed with pleasure. His blonde hair reflected the light just right as he tilted his head inquisitively, and his bright pink eyes stared down at Vellan with an openness belied by how sharp they were. The only thing that ruined Afiran’s clever and dashing appearance with even his outfit appearing modern and very smart indeed was that one of his long ears twitched absently at the breeze coming in from the opened window. 

Afiran was possibly the smartest person Vellan had ever met; it wasn’t readily apparent all the time, but this was simply simply something you just _knew_.

“I didn’t expect to see you here today,” Afiran said, offering Vellan a grin. Vellan tentatively returned it, needing a moment before his expression turned firm. Neaswe’s cousin was kind of blinding, in both appearance and personality. 

Still, Vellan had to fight not to wring his hands anxiously and settled for straightening up in as fluid a motion as he could manage, tucking his hands behind himself earnestly. 

“Oh... Er...” Vellan had to swallow back several non-starters or insensate filler sounds or else he’d have been there all day. “I was- well. I had... rather hoped to request your assistance,” Vellan explained, and he ducked his head just enough to look up at Afiran through his eyelashes. 

Afiran blinked and gave a squinty-eyed stare, peering down at him curiously. 

“Oh? What could I possibly help you with, Lord Vellan?” 

It was all Vellan could do to ignore the way his insides squirmed with pleasure at the sudden title, and he stiffened upright with a deep breath. 

“Could I- that is to say, I came to ask your assistance in putting together an appropriate outfit for this evening’s celebratory gala.”

Afiran blinked again at that and stared for an uncomfortably long moment in all apparent bafflement. 

“... Don’t you have handmaids or attendants for that kind of thing? I’m pretty sure Neaswe wouldn’t forget to leave someone around to attend to you since you’ve never done one of these.” 

Vellan gave a weak laugh. 

“Oh, them. Yes. Well.” 

Vellan didn’t _trust_ them, and it was all too easy to imagine rumors, rumors, _rumors-_

It was an admittedly selfish and illogical fear, because the chances of that were small. The chances were smaller that too many people beyond those who were already Neaswe’s enemies would _care_. And yet...

Besides that, there was the important matter of considering whether they might snoop around, or just invade Vellan’s space in general. That sounded like an absolute nightmare, to be frank, and much more likely. 

Regardless of all that, Vellan brought himself back to the present with a slight cough. 

“Neaswe _did_ grant me use of... er... a few of her handmaidens, but...” 

Afiran’s eyes gleamed with a sense of sudden comprehension. 

“ _Oh_. Nosy little twits, huh?” 

Vellan actually found himself blushing at that, unable to deny it because... Well, it was true. They were all closer to Neaswe’s age than Vellan’s, but they were all so _chatty_ and _curious_ and asked all those humiliating questions about him and what he and Neaswe did in bed and- 

Not that they meant any harm, mind. Even Vellan could tell that much. But it was still _embarrassing_. It was... It was a bit much, was all. 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Vellan lied in an uneasy mumble before continuing on hurriedly when it looked as though Afiran would prod at that, “ _And it’s really not important!_ No, I... I would simply very much appreciate your assistance in this matter.” 

Afiran did back off if only slightly, eyes gleaming. 

“Alright, alright. Now come on, tell me what you need help with specifically.” 

“Everything,” Vellan said very seriously. 

The older man paused.   
  
“... Define _everything_.”

Vellan stared at Afiran in the eye, trying to painfully convey with his eyes alone just how much assistance he needed. His soul was giving out on him this very second the longer he went without help. Vellan was about ready to drop himself from the nearest tower. 

“... I’ll see what I can do,” Afiran agreed with an incredibly beleaguered tone that was more fitting of a general about to partake in battle at the cost of their life. 

“ _Thank you,_ ” Vellan exhaled with fervent gratitude, and Afiran grumbled the whole way over to the leftover display that must’ve remained there from his own outfit selection but Vellan swore he saw a half-smile being smothered. 

Afiran picked up something gray and patterned, examined it and Vellan in one smooth motion, and threw it over his shoulder. He turned back to the small rack with a scrutinizing eye. 

“Please tell me you have a preferred color,” Afiran eventually sighed; Vellan lit up because this, at least, was something he was fairly proficient in. 

“Oh! Well... I was- I was sticking with dark colors, like black, and maybe some slightly lighter shades like purple, or maybe darker blues-“ 

Afiran’s eyebrows raised at that, and he appeared as though he rather wished to say something. 

“Not with _Beonite_ blue, I hope?” Was what he settled on, and Vellan very rapidly shook his head. 

“No! No, really, just a plain dark blue, much darker than that!”

Surely not even Neaswe’s endless patience extended to allowing Vellan to dress in Beon’s _royal colors_. He couldn’t even imagine _dreaming_ of being so bold. 

Afiran hummed with satisfaction, his Morilan-pink eyes flickering with thought before he grabbed something else from the rack and tossed it lightly at Vellan. He caught it, half-surprised at his own ability to do so, and took a good look at the clothing in his hands; it was black, this time, but there was gold and blue trim that made Vellan’s eyes light up eagerly, and the silver blouse tucked inside that Vellan could spy- 

It looked very nice and fine. 

“Go ahead and try it on,” Afiran encouraged. “Best to start pinning up the fabric now and see how it fits before you make an embarrassment of yourself out on the dance floor.” 

Vellan flushed, fiddling with the buttons of the plain shirt he wore now. 

“ _Oh_. Are you sure it’s alright for me to-?” 

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” He waved off lackadaisically. “Just change here so I can see how it fits and we’ll go from there.” 

So Vellan did so, haltingly — it was _embarrassing_ to change in front of anyone else, especially when he could feel Afiran’s observant eyes on him like a burn — but found himself dressed up in the outfit in as little time as possible, anxiously smoothing down his front. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Vellan worried, “It’s so hard to find anything that matches me... Maybe I just shouldn’t go tonight...”

Afiran waved off his concern, “Don’t be ridiculous — Neaswe’ll have my head if I let you skip out. Besides, this _does_ suit you believe it or not.” 

Vellan hoped his face conveyed just how much he didn’t believe that as he stared blankly back at Afiran. 

“... Don’t you trust me or my word?” Afiran attempted obviously. 

“... Of course,” he agreed woodenly. “Entirely so. Without a doubt in my mind, Lord Afiran.” 

“ _D-don’t you only talk like that when you’re lying..?!”_

“I would never,” Vellan refuted lightly without ever looking at the other man, lifting several strand of hair to observe how they contrasted against the darker shades he now wore. If only his hair were entirely silver, Vellan would be much less worried about the contrast..! 

Afiran huffed and sulked, but Vellan only graced him with a smile as he laced up his shoes and gathered up the clothes he’d previously discarded to dress. 

“Do you suppose Neaswe will like me dressed like this?”

He did Vellan the good courtesy of at least considering the question, Afiran even breaking out of his sulking to do so. 

“I don’t see how she couldn’t,” he said honestly. “You look fine enough in most things as it is, but I think you’ll really stand out in this.” 

“I would rather never stand out,” Vellan denied flatly, nervous smile falling at the very thought. Afiran merely rolled his eyes, 

“Oh, c’mon now — you know you’ll be the center of attention no matter what you do! It’s what you get for bunking with N-“ 

“ _Yes okay THANK YOU Afiran,”_ Vellan interrupted just shy of shrilly, face flushing with absolute embarrassment. Afiran laughed in his face, but Vellan couldn’t hold onto his ire when the other man also stepped forward a moment later and helpfully smoothed out the wrinkles that Vellan hadn’t quite managed to get. 

“Thank you,” he managed, embarrassment quickly fading as he looked down at his outfit, and Afiran graced Vellan with a handsome wink that was surely enough to make almost anyone swoon with flushed delight. 

“Come closer to the light and I’ll help arrange the inside so it doesn’t _look_ pinned,” Afian offered; it was certainly a very kind offer considering the difference in their stature’s and heights, and Vellan went immediately while only a little absently chewing on his lower lip. Several moments passed like this; a nearly companionable silence stretching as Afiran maneuvered around Vellan and periodically had to lean back to check the length. His body brushed uncomfortably close at times, but Vellan held himself carefully still; Afiran’s hands maneuvered around his legs easily, pins expertly placed on the inside helping the fabric slowly raise from where it was brushing against the floor. 

“Afiran,” Vellan finally couldn’t resist saying when the silence made him want to start fidgeting, “You’ve been to plenty of these celebrations... Is there anything you can tell me?” 

Afiran paused where he was grabbing several more pins, pushing back the hair that was falling in his eyes with a thoughtful frown. 

“Anything I can tell you..? I’m not sure. It’s not that I don’t want to,” he elaborated at Vellan’s crestfallen expression, “It’s more that I don’t know where to start! These sort of parties have to really be experienced to really be- well, there’s a bunch of... oh, this is hard to explain; it’s more like there’s a lot of silent and unspoken rules that don’t make much sense if you try saying them because, you know, _they’re silent and unspoken rules._ Expectations, I suppose? It’s really something you gain understanding of more from being there yourself,” Afiran sighed, hauling himself back to his feet to clasp a tight hand to Vellan’s shoulder. 

“Listen — as long as you’re polite and respectful and don’t usually speak unless you’re spoken to, or as long as you don’t... oh, I don’t know, snub anyone really obviously? You should be just fine.”

Vellan straightened up with what he hoped looked like something approaching poise, head jerking unsteadily. 

“A-alright. I can do that. Out of sight is out of mind, right?” 

Afiran’s lips quirked up into a wry smile. 

“Exactly. Out of sight is out of mind. And even if you can’t exactly be a wallflower, I’m sure you’ll get it all sorted out.” 

Vellan laughed nervously. 

“Well, I do have a few hours to figure it out,” he said with a glance aimed at the clock on the wall. “It shouldn’t be too hard to sort now that you’ve helped me with the rest!”

* * *

Vellan was so very, _very_ wrong; everything was a thousand times more difficult now that evening had actually fallen and the gala was in full swing. 

Neaswe was radiant, of course; Vellan kept managing to catch glimpses of her, a beautiful whirlwind of blues and silvers and golds. They hadn’t had a chance to breathe, never mind meet up before the gala had begun, but Vellan could spot her deep blue dress and the intricate silver leaves and flowers from almost anywhere, or at least he could when the crowd of people seemed to part enough for breathing room. 

He could almost swear it was like those little moments were timed, like the whole room was taking a breath of air. It would probably be pretty funny if Vellan weren’t so painfully self-aware of every potential perceived mistake he might make, but another glimpse of Neaswe closer than before allowed Vellan to be distracted for one blessed minute more. 

Neaswe really was lovely, and the deep blue of her dress truly did contrast beautifully against her skin. The long shimmering cape that fell down her shoulders was a bright silver that shone like stars, as were the shimmering silver stitchings of flowers and leaves that hemmed the upper portion of blue fabric before snaking its way to Neaswe’s waist like an intricate belt, and then fading down further into Neaswe’s dress. He could almost make out the shiny, tiny little intricate swirls no doubt inscribed into the short, lacy white sleeves of Neaswe’s dress that caught the light at every turn of her body. Her long brown hair was pulled back, held there by silver hair ornaments, and even from far away it was dazzling how Neaswe’s pink eyes sparkled. 

More than anything, though, Neaswe looked... Overall happy. Strikingly beautiful, of course; utterly gorgeous with as dolled up as she was. But _happiness_ suited Neaswe like nothing else, and Vellan couldn’t help but trail after her from afar like some lovesick puppy without daring to be bold enough to approach her Neaswe directly. Whenever he could see her, at least; even the plainest of people in the room were distractingly beautiful when they put so much effort into their appearances, and Vellan ended up being drawn in more than once by the artistically done displays of hair by the Daruhuan diplomatic party, filled entirely with their native race of Folshana. Greens and purples and browns and dusty pink skin all stood out in those obscenely flowing gowns that seemed to stretch for miles, all draped in gold and bronze and precious gemstones tied into their ornately done hair. 

Vellan also spotted other visitors, of course; any allied planet worth their salt would be ready almost instantly to send diplomats and politicians at the first sign of a fulfilled alliance in the works, grasping with understandable greediness for their own agreements to be hashed out. 

That’s why it wasn’t a surprise to see brown skinned Raskiri of the independent planet Ghaenis in muted greens and clean whites, or tailed Dei-Rhi from isolated Luryllon in their laces and frills on top of the previously arrived Folshan visitors. It gave the entire gala an otherwise sensationally exotic feel to it, and even as out of place as Vellan otherwise felt he couldn’t help but to take everything in with a lighter heart than he had arrived with. With so many obvious foreigners gathered in one place, Vellan almost blended in entirely. 

In a word, it was all spectacularly bedazzling. Utterly, _utterly_ bedazzling. 

This is all just to say that despite his initial and great misgivings, Vellan was also having the time of his life. Wine flowed as freely as the conversations, and despite Vellan’s constant coaching — _and there had been plenty of coaching, from how to walk or stand to how widely Vellan could get away with smiling with such sharp teeth_ —, well, there he was. A glass of something sweet in one hand and a small smile curling upwards at the corner of his lips. 

Of course, even a wallflower like Vellan could only go so long without anyone approaching him; he stood out with his red skin and mostly silver hair, and the blacks of his eyes could only deter curious bystanders for so long. 

Frankly speaking, Vellan was only amazed that it took so long before the person most bold in their staring approached him; Vellan could smell salt and an underlying, instinctive sense of maleness moments before the Folshan in front of him stopped before Vellan with an easy grin, giving an almost half-bow with his chest puffed out. 

(Not arrogantly, it must be said; it was more likely than not something instinctual - the Folshana were primarily aquatic people, after all, and physics underwater were very different compared to outside it! Daruhua was home to only a few large islands, and so almost the entire planet’s population lived within those endless blue depths.)

“It’s not every day you see Dareshi out here in independent territories,” was the man’s opening statement, expression pleasant and delighted. Vellan, blood running warm and head cool from the glass of whatever it was he presently held in his hand, gave a light shrug. 

“Now that’s the first I’ve heard of it,” Vellan said somewhat wryly. “Usually people think that right up until we speak face to face; then it’s always the assertion that I’m _Sorilish_.” 

“It’s the eyes,” they finished together, and Vellan did snort at that one. 

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he then added, “Call me Vellan, if you please.” 

“Torvelyn. Tirgyl Torvelyn, at your service,” the Folshan said grandly, before peering at Vellan curiously. “No offered surname for me to call you by? I’d hate for you to think me rude by assuming familiarity.” 

“It’s fine,” Vellan waved off, although he did feel much more kindly towards the other man for the question. “My surname is the best kept mystery this side of Beon.” 

Tirgyl snorted, an elegant enough sound that had Vellan tentatively labeling the man a potential politician or noble in his mind; although he _was_ a Folshan, so perhaps he had arrived with the diplomatic party from the start. 

“In that case, please; do call me Tirgyl.”

“Lord Tirgyl, then,” Vellan said with sly agreeableness. The other made a face, 

“Oh, absolutely not. It’s Tirgyl or sir, if you absolutely must.” 

“I’m afraid I must, Sir Tirgyl.” 

“Hah, clever enough,” He snorted. Tirgyl stretched, pulling at the loose fabric he was absolutely draped in. 

“Care to join me in taking a walk? I get anxious just remaining in one place like this, and I’m sure I’ll never hear the end of it if my husband doesn’t see me politicking to the best of my ability.” 

Vellan discreetly looked away and repressed the urge to cover his mouth with good humor; he imagined a faceless Folshan scolding Tirgyl only to find out just how Vellan was connected to Neaswe and being absolutely flabbergasted. 

“May I take that to mean you aren’t a part of Daruhua’s diplomatic party? It’s only that I had assumed that you were,” Vellan hedged searchingly. Tirgyl beamed, a surprisingly honest expression. 

“Oh, no — that really is my husband. I’m just his kept man, here on vacation while he’s hard at work!” Tirgyl sounded unexpectedly proud of his so-called profession, enough so that Vellan could only find himself amused by it. 

“A good and honest job,” Vellan found himself agreeing without truly meaning to; Tirgyl nodded, and they traded sly grins. 

“So come now, Lord Vellan, (“ _Vellan_ , if you please.”) but who did you come with? Was it... someone from Luryllon? Or is Kath involved with Vaen’s permission? Or — don’t tell me — Hitlitka got involved and no one knows it.” 

Vellan simply _had_ to laugh at that, soft little chortles he choked on that made him turn away inelegantly. It took Vellan half a heartbeat to recall what Kath was — Kath was the homeworld of the Dareshi race; those red-skinned, peach-eyed and horned people that so many others thought Vellan resembled so clearly were it not for the silver of his hair and the blackness of his sclera. It was a dark place of endless mountains and cave systems, developed because the sun was unbearably hot and scorching and killed most things within a matter of hours of direct exposure. 

It was also fairly deep within the Vaen Empire’s territory, so the chances of them engaging in a diplomatic gala of Beon’s was pretty hard to believe. 

On the other hand, Hitlitka was the capital homeworld of Sorila. This was to say, it was the capital homeworld of the Congregation of Sorila; those powerful planets banded together on the opposite side of Known Space to repel Vaenian and other invaders some several millennia previous. The chances of _them_ partaking in this event were somehow even less imaginable than Kath. 

“I’m- I _am_ here as a guest, but’s it’s because my... my...” Vellan floundered silently for a proper word for Neaswe. “... My lady is... integral to the proceedings.” 

“Oh, a _lady_ ,” Tirgyl winked, a comical enough motion that had Vellan ducking his head to hide a grin. 

“Point your lady out to me, I’d love to see if I know her!” 

“Well,” Vellan began slyly enough, “if you insist... Her hair is pulled back into elegant braids held together with silver ornaments, you see, and her dress is a deep blue-“ 

“Silver and blue? Now _that’s_ classy,” Tirgyl _ooh’d_ appreciatively. Vellan beamed, cheeks flushing happily on Neaswe’s behalf. 

“Isn’t it? Neaswe looks like an absolute _star_ , it’s amazing!” 

“Neaswe, Neaswe...” Tirgyl repeated the name thoughtfully to himself, tapping his blue chin almost wanderingly. “I swear I’ve heard the name before, but I just can’t place it... is it a common Beonite name-?” 

Vellan glanced up at him when Tirgyl abruptly cut himself off, choking audibly. 

“ _Oh_ ,” he squeaked, and Vellan didn’t have any time to wonder at it because _oh_ , indeed. 

Neaswe had quite smoothly intercepted their path, looking for all the world as if she wasn’t neatly cutting off several conversations that looked quite important by the way that more than one person was left visibly steaming by Neaswe’s abrupt departure. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Tirgyl was repeating almost frantically under his breath now, and Vellan rather hoped the man wasn’t about to keel over with as flustered as he looked. 

Vellan’s face grew a steadily darker shade of red with so many eyes focused on him, even if only because of Neaswe’s attention.

“Y-you... you look lovely,” Vellan managed to muster up, and he only wanted to die a little bit at having said something so clichéd; Neaswe had probably been told that over a dozen times at the very least. But Neaswe didn’t look bothered; if anything she looked properly delighted, sidling up to Vellan to offer her hand — which Vellan took, of course — and to then offer Tirgyl a charming smile. 

“Do pardon me, my lord — I believe I am owed a few words of privacy with my date before this night ends.” 

Tirgyl looked increasingly flustered at Neaswe paying him any attention, but he also looked as overjoyed as only someone fond of gossip could possibly look in this situation. 

“Of-of course, Queen Neaswe... Vellan, lovely to meet you; I do hope you have a good time,” Tirgyl babbled faintly, and then he was walking off with a slightly dazzled look to his eyes. 

Vellan didn’t watch him go, however; his attention was caught entirely by Neaswe. She was even more lovely up close, expression lit up and skin comfortably warm where Vellan’s hand rested. There was a subtle makeup hidden just past her eyelashes, a pale and colorless thing that shimmered when the light hit it just right, and it made her eyes seem brighter than ever. 

He smiled at Neaswe, and anxiously resolved for the next hour to not pay any heed to those onlookers that watched and scrutinized them. 

“Have you been enjoying yourself?” Vellan asked earnestly when they seemed to both sense a silent signal to begin walking, and Neaswe raised a hand to discreetly laugh. 

“Me? Oh, I suppose... it’s a bit grander than usual for even my tastes, but I was wondering whether _you_ were enjoying yourself!” 

He smiled in reply, ducking his head slightly so that his sharp teeth wouldn’t be on such display to any onlookers. 

“Oh, have I ever... It’s grand, Neaswe, I love it,” Vellan replied honestly. 

She smiled, and Vellan thought he caught something similar to sheer relief in her eyes at that. 

“I see! I’m glad — it makes me happy to know that you’re enjoying the fruits of our labor so.” 

Something in Vellan’s chest warmed and swelled all at once at the acknowledgement; the use of the word _our_ , a little nod to his own contributions, small as they may have been. 

The two of them grew quiet for a moment — not silent, that was quite impossible with as surrounded by people as they were in as excited and buzzing an atmosphere as a celebratory gala, but Vellan-and-Neaswe-together grew quiet as they walked. 

“I can’t help but notice,” Neaswe began, voice just shy of gently teasing. “But I could swear I’ve seen your outfit before...” 

Vellan immediately grew bashful and had to look away, face darkening in a furious blush. 

“ _O-oh..._ Well... I may have... had to request Afiran’s assistance.” 

Neaswe hummed with faux-thoughtfulness, eyes glimmering with mirth and reflected light. 

“Were the assistants I granted you of a subpar quality?” 

Vellan blushed and mumbled something incoherently despite himself, and Neaswe looked away to laugh. 

Still, the air between the two of them was lighthearted and even peaceful, and Vellan caught himself slanting a curious eye up towards Neaswe. 

“Would you mind- that is, if it isn’t too much trouble,” he hedged with cautious hope, “would you perhaps say no to a bit of dancing?” 

Neaswe was too embedded with decorum to whip her head around to stare at Vellan with wide eyes, but she did still turn her head to stare. 

“You know how to dance?” She questioned curiously, and Vellan tilted his head thoughtfully. It was a request that had escaped from him without his own consent or actively considering it, but Vellan _did_ know how to dance; it was something he was taught in his life before Neaswe, with moves that felt off and disjointed like he was doing the steps all wrong, but watching the delicate golds and silks in all of their splendor brush against each other in a display of elegant decadence had Vellan itching to join in. 

And he _knew_ those moves, Vellan knew he did like he knew the sky outside was dark, or how the leaves of the trees were pink and the bark blue. So Vellan turned a smile that was just shy of blinding to Neaswe. 

“Yes, I know how to dance. But I’d really love to try it with you.”

He offered her _his_ hand, this time; all appropriately gentlemanly, the kind of flawless gesture that even the most critical onlooker couldn’t find fault with. Neaswe at the very least seemed amused, and there was a pleased flush rising to her cheeks. 

“Well,” she said dryly with amusement obvious in her voice, “I suppose I have no choice but to accept such a sincere request, Lord Vellan.” 

“My Queen,” Vellan replied with gentle mockery in his voice, teasing her back, and they shared wry grins as they stepped forth. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [in the dark & quiet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26338462) by [nyxienova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyxienova/pseuds/nyxienova)




End file.
